


What if... Wolverine Visits the Circus

by dragonwriter88



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Wolverine (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Logan, Bullies, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, Logan Needs A Hug, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Renaissance Faires, more to come - Freeform, protective Logan, standing up to bullies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 81,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter88/pseuds/dragonwriter88
Summary: Inspired by CanuckleheadCowgirl.Logan was taking a break from his new team, the X-men when he decided to visit the circus. He meets a young a archer who has his own set of problems that pulls Logan into a whole new set of responsibilities. Will Wolverine be able keep a teenage Hawkeye out of trouble?





	1. Not the Best Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What if ...? Episode 907](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555010) by [CanuckleheadCowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanuckleheadCowgirl/pseuds/CanuckleheadCowgirl), [magnetocerebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetocerebro/pseuds/magnetocerebro). 



> After reading CC's "What if... Episode 907" I just had to ask what if Logan took Clint under his wing. This is team up between my two favorite characters and what if Clint had a mostly positive male role model in his young life. The plot bunny would not be denied. I hope you enjoy it.  
> Special thanks to CanuckleheadCowgirl who was willing to listen to my ideas and helped me keep to my timeline straight.

The circus set up outside a small town in Montana. It wasn’t a large circus, but it was more than the sleepy little town, just a hop skip away from the Canada border, had seen before. Carson’s Circus didn’t usually travel this far north or west, but suspicions about a series of robberies had Old Man Carson moving outside his comfort zone. They needed to make enough money to survive the winter which was coming up faster than he liked. After this they would head South, running ahead of the cold.  
The crowd filing into the tent was large enough, especially considering the nearly rural setting. People around here knew horses and they were suitably impressed with the riding tricks, so the ticket booth was always busy when they set up in a new location. Of course the rest of the acts weren’t ignored. Jacques Duquesne, known on stage as the Swordsman, had his share of admirers too. Lately, though, it was his protégé that had been the headliner. Young Clint Barton had started out assisting Jacques and learning to throw knives as part of Swordsman’s act. Then Clint’s near perfect aim got Buck Chrisholm’s, stage name Trickshot, attention. When the archer gave Clint a bow and arrows, Hawkeye was born. Then it wasn’t long before word had spread about the Amazing Hawkeye. The little roustabout they picked up a few years ago along with his older brother was finally bringing in the money. The sudden notoriety, unfortunately, led to bad feelings between Hawkeye and his brother, driving the older boy to join the army rather than live in his younger brother’s shadow, though there was more to the story than that. Carson hoped that similar feelings didn’t spring up between Hawkeye and his mentors now that word had spread about the younger archer. 

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Outside the tent, a short man with a cowboy hat considered the poster of Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Marksman. It was well done, showing the archer posed dramatically with his bow having just released an arrow at a distant target. The whole scene was set on a field of purple, though a lighter purple than Hawkeye’s costume. There was a lot of purple and the man shrugged. Considering some of his fashion choices, he couldn’t judge. He wasn’t a local, more of a drifter who hadn’t moved on yet. He had quickly earned a reputation in the local bars as a man you didn’t mess with unless you were looking for a beating. Surprisingly, it only took two bar-fights and an ill-conceived ambush in the parking lot that sent four men to the hospital to earn that reputation. So when he walked into the circus, no one bothered him, not even the local toughs (a handful of young men who wanted to think they were bad asses, despite being wet behind the ears). He hadn’t planned to come, but honestly, he was a little bored. He’d probably move on soon, continuing north into Canada, but for now he decided to enjoy a night out. It should be interesting, anyway.  
The stranger paid at the ticket booth and moved with the crowd as they filed into the big top. The smell of animals, sweat and popcorn was almost over powering. Everywhere people from around the area talked excitedly about the upcoming show while children squealed in delight at the treat. He smiled as he allowed the crowd to pull him forward to the bleachers that were set up along one side of the tent.  
He took a spot next to the bleachers furthest from the main entrance, preferring to stay on the ground in case he needed to make a quick exit. He wasn’t worried about the heavy canvas behind him for reasons that no one in the crowd could have guessed.  
No one gave the small man a second look as the show started and he lit a cigar. It was an impressive enough show and the stranger watched it with a small, secret grin. It had been awhile since he had enjoyed himself without starting a fight or drinking, or both.  
When Hawkeye came out in his bright purple costume, the young man, no boy, proved himself as good as his advertising. The things the kid could do with a bow and arrow were astounding. He split arrows like Robin Hood, he hit targets the size of dimes as he swung from the trapeze or rode a horse around the ring. The crowd cheered and the kid beamed even as sweat dripped from under his mask. Then the ringmaster called for a volunteer. For some reason, the short man raised his hand, just getting into the spirit of things. Actually it would have looked stranger for him not to raise his hand, since everyone else in the audience was jumping up and down. It wasn’t like he was expecting to be chosen.  
Surprisingly the ringmaster did call for him. “You, in the cowboy hat and cigar, come up and help out our archer.”  
The man shrugged and walked into the ring. Some of the crowd booed because they weren’t picked. The man grinned around his cigar.  
“Now, don’t be like that, folks. Hawkeye’s still young enough to need a growth spurt, so I picked someone his size,” the showman joked. “Tell us your name sir.”  
“Logan,” the man answered, raising an eyebrow at the short joke. He was used to it and at least this man meant it in good humor. Though, if he said the word “runt” all bets were off.  
“Well, Mr. Logan, let’s set you up.” The ringmaster waved over one of the pretty trapeze girls. She was young with bleached blond hair that shone in the stage lights. She had nice smile and was just starting to fill out her skimpy leotard. Logan gave her a wink as she led him over to a large wooden target that was taller than he was. She giggled and took his hat, with a promise to give it back, and set an apple on his head, William Tell style.  
“Don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “He never misses.”  
Logan gave her a grin. “I’m not worried, darlin’.”  
Hawkeye strutted across from him, at the far end of the ring. “Now hold still,” the boy called. “Don’t want to give you a haircut.” The crowd laughed.  
Logan chuckled, appreciating the kid’s moxy. “Bring it, bub.”  
Hawkeye loosed an arrow and it nailed the apple, dead center. The crowd cheered wildly. Logan wiped apple juice out of his eyes and took his cigar out of his mouth.  
“Nice shot, but not as good as you were doing earlier,” the stranger challenged.  
“Really?” Hawkeye shot back. “Maybe I was worried you’d flinch.”  
“I don’t flinch,” Logan said as he started to bring his cigar back to his mouth. It was knocked out of his hand by an arrow. He considered the two halves of his smoke on the dirt floor. “Pretty good, bub, but now you owe me a cigar.”  
Hawkeye laughed and walked across the ring to shake the man’s hand while the crowd went crazy. “You’re right, you don’t flinch. Good show.” In an under tone, he added, “Sorry about your cigar. Thanks for being a good sport.”  
With that he saluted the crowd and moved left making room for the next act, which the ringmaster was already introducing. The pretty girl gave Logan back his hat and showed him back to where he had been standing.  
The rest of the show was good but Logan wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking about the kid, Hawkeye. The kid was a showman and an actor but he couldn’t fool Logan’s nose. Logan wasn’t as normal as he appeared. He was a mutant and one of his abilities was enhanced senses. He could smell emotions and lies. Under the sweat and adrenaline of the show, Logan smelled fear, anger, and a host of other negative emotions a kid shouldn’t have to deal with. Logan wasn’t naïve. Life wasn’t fair and bad things happened to good people and all of that. None of that meant he couldn’t try and do something about it. The bright young man who ate up the crowd’s attention with every bullseye was secretly hurting. Logan decided he didn’t like it and despite his better judgment, he was going to get to the bottom of this.  
As he tracked Hawkeye’s scent through the maze of tents and trailers, Logan wondered what he was doing. It wasn’t his responsibility to save a kid from his less than ideal life. Logan had his own problems and his method of problem solving wasn’t very nice. He couldn’t take responsibility for a teenager. He should really leave before he got tangled in something that was none of his business.  
Logan had just about talked himself out of doing anything when he finally found the kid at the edge of the camp. There were two men with him and it sounded like things were getting heated. Logan pulled back into the shadows before any of them noticed him.  
“Why?” Hawkeye was asking. From where he stood, Logan could only see the back of his blond head. The kid had taken off the mask and now he sounded even younger than before.  
“We needed the money,” one of the men said. He was still in costume, like Hawkeye. Both were obnoxiously purple. “You have a problem, brat?”  
“You can’t steal from the circus,” Hawkeye exclaimed. “How could you? We’re a family.”  
“And what do you know about family?” the second man said. He wasn’t in costume like the other two but he had a bow and quiver over his shoulder. Strangely enough, Hawkeye wasn’t carrying his weapons which made Logan nervous. “Your daddy was a drunk who beat you and your brother. Then he killed himself and your mother, leaving you with a brother, who, news-flash, left you to.” The man shoved the boy, making him stumble back.  
“Barney didn’t leave me!” the boy shouted. “He joined the army, but he still cares about me.”  
“Forget it,” the first man said. “Barney isn’t coming back for you. You’re stuck with us. Are you going to give us any trouble?” He was staying calmer, just standing with his arms crossed over his chest. When he moved, Logan noticed he wore a sword on his belt, which wasn’t as weird as it could have been. This was a circus, after all. Still, the blade didn’t look like a prop and the man stood like he knew how to use it.  
“I don’t want trouble, sir,” Hawkeye mumbled, looking at the ground. His posture was submissive, but his fists were clenched. “I just don’t think you should steal from the circus. We are all relying on that money. You have to give it back.”  
“Give it back?” the second man snorted. “Forget it, forget you saw anything.” He shoved the kid again.  
In the shadows, Logan ground his teeth trying to keep a growl in. These men were pushing it. Betrayal, abuse, and stealing were all things that got on his nerves. It was so tempting to step in, but he wanted to see how the kid would handle the situation.  
“Please, Jacques,” the kid begged, stepping forward to lay a hand on the man’s crossed arms. “I won’t say anything, not to nobody but we have to put it back. This is wrong.”  
The swordsman pushed the kid back hard enough to knock him on his ass before drawing a sword. Holding the blade to kid’s throat, the older man glared down. “No, I won’t put it back. I need the money to pay off some people. Don’t get in my way, you little shit.”  
“Buck,” Hawkeye turned to the other man, his voice small, “please?”  
The second man looked over at the other man before stepping back. “No, Clint, I’m not saving you here. You need to be smart. Either you die right here or you join us. We could use another hand after your brother left and you’re more than agile enough to do it. Think about it.”  
“No,” Hawkeye shouted. Logan was impressed with the kid’s guts, considering he was still at sword point. “I won’t help you steel from gaffer! I won’t become a common criminal!”  
“No?” the swordsman said, using the blade to tip the boy’s head up. “What do you think we’ve been training you for? To be a circus act your whole life? Don’t you want something more?”  
The kid’s voice shook but he still answered strong. “I don’t care! I won’t help you!”  
The other man, Buck, stepped forward and hit the kid with his fist, knocking him into the dirt. Logan had to take a deep breath to keep control. He could feel the skin stretching over his knuckles. When Clint tried to get up, Buck kicked him while the other man stepped back and watched. “You’re being an idiot, Clint. We are offering you a better future than this two bit circus. Think about your future. Don’t throw it away.” He looked around and, spying a pile of firewood, went to pick up a piece.  
Hawkeye looked up and seeing what his mentor was doing, curled up in a ball, holding his arms up to protect his head. The swordsman, Jacques, just kept watching with a grim look on his face, though he kept his sword out and at the ready.  
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, boy,” Buck snarled. “And maybe this time it’ll stick.”  
Logan decided he had seen enough. When Buck raised his piece of wood to hit the kid, Logan rushed forward and grabbed it before the carnie could bring it down.  
“Watch it, bub,” Logan growled. “I don’t think you want to do that.”  
Buck wretched the timber out of Logan’s hand. “You better get out of here,” he threatened. “This ain’t any of your business, gilly.”  
Logan appeared to ignore the men as he crouched down to talk to the kid. “Hey, you alright?”  
“What are you doing here?” Hawkeye groaned. He clutched his side where Buck had kicked him.  
“You owe me a cigar,” Logan pointed out, trying for a joke. From the kid’s face, he could tell it fell flat.  
Logan felt a blade against his back, interrupting his conversation. “Stanger, you will leave if you want to see tomorrow,” the swordsman said coldly.  
Hawkeye’s eyes were huge and Logan almost choked on the anger and fear that was coming off the kid in waves. Still the kid had guts. He got to his feet without help, though he winced from the bruises, and waved his would be savior off. “Get out of here,” the kid hissed at Logan. “I don’t need no help.”  
“Listen to the brat,” Buck said, still brandishing the hunk of wood. “Git!”  
Logan turned around to face the men. It was almost amusing that they were trying to intimidate him. “Give me one good reason,” he challenged.  
Jacques moved his sword tip to Logan’s chest. “Leave now, or I will run you through. This is your last warning.”  
Hawkeye pushed Logan out of the way so he could face his mentors. Bemused, Logan let him. “Leave him alone. He didn’t do anything.” His strong front was weakened by the blood dripping from his lip.  
“We’ll finish dealing with you in a minute,” Buck said as he swung his improvised club. Logan was expecting an attack and moved to defend himself, but Buck hit Hawkeye on the temple instead and the boy crumpled to the ground.  
“That was a mistake,” Logan growled. He stepped forward menacingly so he could stand in front of the unconscious Hawkeye.  
The swordsman decided to take the initiative and attack first. He thrust his sword into Logan’s chest without warning, but instead of going right into the shorter man’s heart like expected, the blade slid along his ribs leaving a bloody gash. Logan snarled and smacked the blade a way. Ignoring the injury, which was already healing, he swung an adamantium reinforced fist and broke the man’s jaw. Buck moved forward to defend his partner or just because he saw an opening and swung the piece of wood again. It splintered over Logan’s head and didn’t even slow the mutant down. A right to the archer’s stomach forced the bully to double over and Logan grabbed his hair so he could nail him with a wicked uppercut that knocked the man out cold. In a matter of seconds it was over with all three performers on the ground.  
“Well, now what?” Logan murmured to himself. He couldn’t leave them there but he had a big bloody hole in his shirt that was sure to draw attention.  
With a sigh, he zipped up his jacket to hide the hole. He’d have to throw the shirt away and now he’d have to wash the coat or it would smell like blood. He cursed under his breath and turned to where Hawkeye was laid out in the dirt. Left with no other options or ideas, he bent down to pick up the kid, bridal style, and went to find someone in charge.  
\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Walking back into the crowd, it was obvious that something had stirred the hornet’s nest. Most of the customers were leaving peacefully enough but the circus folk were running around in apparent panic, closing down the circus, even though it early. Most of carnies running around did not look friendly, though they were very focused on their own tasks and didn’t pay any attention to Logan. The bearded lady was the first to notice Logan and his burden.  
“Goodness gracious,” she exclaimed, pulling Logan off to the side where they wouldn’t be trampled. Logan also noticed that now they were mostly out of sight of the main thoroughfare. “What happened? Is he okay?” Now that she wasn’t on stage, the thick Russian accent she wore like one of her scarves fell off to reveal something a little more Southern.  
“He’ll be fine,” Logan promised, shifting the boy so his head was on Logan’s shoulder so the woman could get a better look. “He took a hit to the head is all.”  
The woman, Madam Z or something, shook her head sadly and reached over to touch Hawkeye’s head gently. “Poor boy, and he couldn’t have picked a worse time to get into trouble.”  
“Someone stole from the owner, right?” Logan grunted.  
“How’d you know?” she gasped, looking around wildly.  
“I found the kid arguing with the men who did it. They’re knocked out back there, beyond the trailers,” Logan explained, jerking his head back in the general direction of where he left the other two. “He was trying to get them to give it back.”  
The woman stroked her beard thoughtfully. “Figured it be those two. They’re rotten apples, for sure. But that’s not the only trouble right now.”  
Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it wasn’t that simple, it never was in his life. “What’s wrong?” He looked down at his burden. “Never mind, where should I take the kid?”  
The woman shook her head fiercely, flapping her hands around in distress. Her scarves fluttered around her like colorful wings. “He’s not safe here. There are men here, government men, who are looking for the Swordsman and Trickshot. They’re with the owner right now and they are demanding the circus cooperate with them.” She looked very offended by the idea. “Everyone knows Clint is their apprentice. The men’ll take him too and who knows what will happen to the poor boy.”  
Logan growled. He wondered when the suits had shown up, because he couldn’t remember seeing or smelling them. Either he was losing his edge (unlikely), or they had come while he was dealing with the kid’s mentors. Which means they moved in after the show. Logan wasn’t sure what that could mean. “Can’t you hide him till the grunts leave?”  
She shook her head again. “No can do, sugar. Carson won’t protect the boy, especially if Jacques stole from him. He’d be deadweight and we can’t afford that.”  
“Lady, I don’t like what your implying,” Logan groaned. How could it have come to this? “You want me to take the kid? How do you know you can trust me?”  
“I know these things,” the woman said haughtily, waving her hands around some more. She had a twinkle in her eye as she said that, despite her dismissive tone and Logan wondered what else she knew. Maybe she was a mutant to, but he wasn’t going to ask. “Please, just get him out of sight. Before the government men see him. Clint’s a good boy, too good to be mixed up with this.”  
Logan looked down at the boy in his arms. Hawkeye, or Clint, looked young, barely a teenager with sharp cheekbones that showed that he hadn’t always had the food he needed. Logan felt his heart clench. He didn’t need this and the kid would probably be in more danger with him than alone, but… But he couldn’t just abandon him. He was committed now and damn the consequences. He’d work it out later. He had always been a seat of his pants planner anyway.  
“Fine, what about his stuff?” Logan growled, letting her see how annoyed he was. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch.  
“I’ll send one of the girls with it after it quiets down. We’ll be moving out tonight, after this whole mess, so she can drop it off on our way through town. Where are you staying?”  
“Little motel outside town, called Wayside Inn. Look for the room with the Harley outside,” Logan grunted.  
“Fine,” the bearded lady agreed. She looked around, fugitively. “Now, get out of here.” She ran her fingers through Clint’s hair. Her eyes were sad and Logan looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate scene he was in the middle of. “Take care of him, he hasn’t had nearly enough of that.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled. He turned and ducked behind a vendor’s tent that the owner was starting to tear down. He melted into the shadows, disappearing with the young archer before anyone had a chance to ask where they had gone.

 

>>>>==========>  
Clint Barton woke up in a rush with a splitting headache. He recognized the pain, knew it like an old friend, not that he had many friends. Through the fog of pain he tried to remember what happened. . He remembered seeing Jacques leave Old Man Carson’s trailer with a suspicious bag. He remembered the show, with the short man in the cowboy hat. He remembered going to put away his bow and catching Jacques counting out the money with Buck. He remembered fighting with his mentors. Then the guy from the show butted in and Jacques threatening him and.... He couldn’t remember anything after that. It was a blank. He groaned and clutched his head, which felt like someone hit him with a 2x4, wait… Someone had. He remembered what happened now. Stupid Buck.  
Still holding his head, which felt like it wanted to split into pieces, Clint looked around taking in his surroundings. He wasn’t at the circus anymore, obviously. He was on a bed in what looked like a ratty motel room, not that he’d been in many motel rooms, but they all kinda looked the same. He looked down. Okay, he was still dressed. That’s nice but where were his shoes? He wanted to be gone before who ever had brought him here came back. He got up and looked around some more. He saw a set of bags that looked like they went on a motorcycle and a leather jacket over the chair. Clint considered going through them to find out more about where he was, but decided against it. He didn’t need to antagonize whoever it belonged to.  
He went to the sink to rinse out his mouth, which tasted foul. One of the lights over the mirror was out, but the other was bright enough for Clint to see his face. He had a wicked goose-egg on the side of his head that was tender to the touch. A bruise was starting to form from Buck’s fist and he had a scratch under his chin from Jacques’ sword. Overall, he looked like elephant shit.  
Turning resolutely away from his reflection, he noticed a shirt in the trash. Curious, he pulled it out. It was bloody with a big slash in the side. Clint dropped it in disgust and, he had to admit, a little fear. It looked like Jacques’ work, so whoever brought Clint here had had a run in with the Swordsman. That didn’t bode well for Clint, who was the Swordsman’s student. He needed to get out of here.  
Clint found his shoes by the door and quickly put them on, ill-fitting though they were. He had gone through another growth-spurt recently that made his shoes too tight, but couldn’t afford new ones yet. He found his stage mask on the table and stuffed it in his pocket. He wished he had his bow. That thought caused a physical pain in his chest. His bow was a part of him and the one and only thing that truly belonged to him. He wasn’t Hawkeye without it.  
Shaking off the melancholy, he crept to the door and carefully opened it. It was dark out, so he had lost a couple hours. The parking lot was lit by four lamp posts at the corner of the small parking lot. A big sign that said Wayside Inne, Vacancy, glowed in red and white neon. The whole place looked deserted. Clint almost expected to see a tumbleweed blow past. An owl hooted and Clint tried not to think about the stories they told around the fire about how owls foretold men’s deaths. He swallowed nervously, but when nothing moved outside, he opened the door enough to step outside. He was already making plans to find the circus or at least a phone and some money. He would need different clothes, since he was still in his costume.  
“Where do you think you’re going?” said a rough voice from beside the door making Clint jump. He bit his cheek to keep from making an undignified sound. Turning around, he saw the man from the show sitting in a chair next to the door, out of sight of the doors or window. He had his boots up on the railing and his cowboy hat pushed low over his face, but not so low that he couldn’t puff on his cigar.  
Clint puffed out his chest. “I’m going back to the circus,” he said hotly. “Do you got a problem with that?”  
“Not particularly,” the man sighed. “Though, it probably isn’t the best idea.”  
Clint glared at the man. “Who asked you?” He looked around. The little motel was pretty empty, there was only one other car in the parking lot, other than the motorcycle that was probably the man’s. There wasn’t even any traffic on the street. He pushed down the rising feeling of panic. “Why’d you kidnap me?”  
The man sighed and took his feet down so he could sit up. He put his forearms on his legs and looked up to meet Clint’s eyes. “I didn’t kidnap you, kid. You were kind of forced on me.” Clint scoffed. “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.”  
“Whose was it, then?” Clint accused, frustrated and feeling a little betrayed. Someone at the circus didn’t want him around so they what, sold him to this guy? Clint felt a little dizzy but there was no way he was going to show any kind of weakness.  
“That bearded lady, Madam Z or whatever. Some government suits were lookin’ for your so-called mentors,” the disgust in his voice was obvious, “and she didn’t want you anywhere near the fall out. Someone’ll be dropping your stuff off tonight. We’ll talk about what happens after that,” the man explained, patiently. He hadn’t made a move toward Clint, but he was poised like one of the big cats at the circus, ready to pounce.  
“You can’t keep me here!” Clint protested, clenching his fists.  
“Nope,” the man agreed. “But where are you going to go?”  
“I can take care of myself,” Clint insisted, taking a step away.  
The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “You might as well wait until someone drops off your stuff. Hard to run away without a nickel to your name.”  
Clint bristled and while he didn’t disagree, that didn’t keep him from arguing. “Bet I could,” he shot back. “I’m pretty talented you know. I could make it work.”  
The man considered him for a long moment, not saying anything, just staring and it was starting to creep Clint out. “I bet you could,” he said finally. “Still, it’d be easier with your stuff, so just relax for now.” He held out his hand to Clint, palm up and non-threatening. “Name’s Logan.”  
Clint decided to bide his time, he could always run later. Besides, he had a sinking feeling that if Logan didn’t want him to leave, there was nothing Clint could do about it. “Clint Barton,” he said, taking the offered hand. Logan squeezed his hand gently for a quick moment, not even enough time for Clint to get concerned for his fingers, before dropping his hand and leaning back. “Also known as Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Marksman,” he continued, grinning.  
“Yeah, I saw you,” Logan replied. “You’re pretty good.”  
Clint scoffed and tried his best to look offended. “I’m the best at what I do,” he boasted.  
Logan chuckled. “Me to, bub,” he said wryly. Clint guessed there was a story behind that, but didn’t ask. He was trying to rack his brain for something else to talk about then Logan stiffened.  
Logan turned to look down the road. “Get inside,” he ordered. Clint decided to obey without arguing because Logan looked worried. Vaguely, he can hear a car coming.  
“I’m going to watch through the curtains,” he challenged, his hand on the door knob.  
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Logan said. “Now, hurry.”  
Clint ducked inside and closed the door just as a large, dark SUV pulled into view. Clint hurried to the window and pulling back just a corner, peaked out.

\\\\\///\\\\\///

As soon as Clint was out of sight, Logan leaned back in his chair and put his feet back up. Over the last few days he’d heard a lot of cars pass by the sleepy little motel and he knew the regulars. This car wasn’t a local. It was too smooth, too powerful for a local cowboy or passing tourist. Truthfully, he recognized the type of car, but he’d wait for confirmation before he made a move. For now, he wanted to project an image of nonchalance, of relaxation. He tipped his hat low and pretended to be asleep as the black SUV pulled into the parking lot. It gave him time to think.  
Logan had brought the boy to his hotel without running into trouble, which surprised him, but he wasn’t the sort to question it. After laying the kid on the bed, and taking of his shoes because Logan was not a barbarian, he had stood there for several minutes trying to figure out what his next move should be. After coming up blank, he put it off and cleaned up from the fight. Then he came outside to wait and smoke. It wasn’t too long before he heard the kid moving around. Oddly enough, Clint moved like a cat. A normal person wouldn’t have heard a sound as the boy investigated the room. Logan was surprised the kid hadn’t gone through his stuff, though he appreciated it. Clint wasn’t a bad kid, but he certainly had issues. Enough issues that Logan wouldn’t be able to just put him back in the system. The mutant had lived a long time and he held no illusions about how badly the government could drop the ball on a boy like Clint. For better or worse, Clint was his responsibility now.  
The appearance of SHIELD complicated things even more. He had assumed that the suits the bearded lady had talked about were at most FBI, but SHIELD issued vehicles added a whole new facet to an already complicated problem.  
Logan watched from under the brim of his hat as the SUV parked under one of the lamp posts. After a full minute, three men in fancy suits got out. It was obvious that the delay was due to an argument because the one who stayed by the car was frowning, just short of a pout. Logan pegged him as a rookie right off. He was proven right when an owl hooted and the man jumped and swung around with a hand on his holster; a jumpy rookie. It was a good thing they left him at the car. Logan didn’t feel like getting shot tonight. Besides, it’d scare the boy who was watching from behind the curtains.  
The other two men were more professional. The shorter man, though he still had a few inches on Logan, was stocky and moved like a boxer. The taller man took his secret agent status too seriously. He wore a suit just like the other two but his shoes were shined and he wore dark glasses despite how dark it was. All three of them had those stupid ear pieces that looked like worms coming out of their ears. If these were the men at the circus, it was no wonder that they circus people were spooked. Logan hoped it was intentional, otherwise they were bigger fools than they looked.  
“Sir,” said the tall one when the two were close enough to Logan.  
Though he considered ignoring them, Logan answered, “What do you want, bub?”  
“Sir, we need your help,” said the short one. He smelled nervous.  
“Highway’s that way,” Logan replied and jerked his thumb down the road. He didn’t push up his hat. “Other way’ll take you into town.”  
The men shared a look. “Actually, we need you in a more official capacity, Mr. Logan,” the tall one said. Logan noticed that he dropped the “sir”. “  
Now Logan tipped his hat back and considered the two men. “What kind of ‘official capacity’?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t know I worked for SHIELD. If I do, Nick Fury owes me some serious backpay,” he added, name dropping to see how they would react. The short one flinched, but the tall one didn’t react. Interesting.  
“No, sir,” the short one said, bringing back the respectful “sir”. “We were sent to retrieve two targets. They have eluded us. When we learned that you were in the area, we hoped you would be willing to assist us in tracking them.”  
“You’re throwing that royal ‘we’ around a lot,” Logan said, keeping his attitude loose. “Who told you I was here? Is the director in charge of this fiasco?”  
The tall one removed his glasses. His grey eyes were too close together so he looked cross-eyed all the time. No wonder he wore the glasses. “No, Director Fury is not leading this operation, I am.”  
“And you couldn’t capture two targets,” Logan said. “Now why should I do your job for you? I don’t work for SHIELD,” he repeated in case they missed it the first time.  
“You have before,” the tall one said. The short one wiped his brow. “We have leads on our primary targets. We need you to find our secondary target. Director Fury said you were the best.”  
Logan stood up, facing off with the two agents. “I am the best, but I don’t do favors for baby agents who can’t do their jobs. Nick wants to call in a favor, he’ll have to do it himself.” He was betting that Fury would have better things to do than come up to Montana after a couple of carnies. This whole thing smelled funny and it had his hackles up.  
“Would you like to see who we’re after,” the short one said, holding out a file in his sweaty hands.  
Logan glared at it. It was tempting. The more information he had the better he’d understand the situation. He needed to make sure it was Clint they were after and why. The kid was a crack shot, but when did SHIELD get so hard up for recruits that they’d abduct a kid from the circus. Still, he didn’t want these agents sticking around while he was hiding Clint in his room. “Not interested,” he said finally. “Get someone else to be your sniffer dog.”  
The tall one looked like he wanted to argue but the shorter agent shot him a look and he quieted down. “SHIELD will remember this,” the agent said instead, offering a challenge that Logan was sure he was not authorized to give. He raised an eyebrow at the implied threat, but did not rise to the bait. The agent huffed before turning on his heel and marched back to the vehicle, his back tight with hurt pride. The shorter agent gave Logan an apologetic smile and hurried after his partner. All three climbed back in the SUV and with an unnecessary squeal of their tires. Logan waited until he couldn’t see their taillights before he turned to enter the room. He had a lot of thinking to do but first he had to deal with a skittish boy. This would be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2- Proper Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning on this chapter: Blink and you miss it underage sexual abuse. I hate even bringing it up, and Clint has not actually been abused like that in my world, but he is aware of it so it will be mentioned. That being said, this chapter is more fun and brings out young Clint's personality more. So I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 2- Proper Introductions

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Inside the room, Logan wasn’t surprised to find Clint crouching by the window. The boy stood up as the mutant walked in and he looked contemplative. Logan waited for him to make up his mind on what he wanted to ask first.   
Clint swallowed compulsively. “So who were those guys?” he asked nervously. “They look like secret agents from a bad movie.”  
“They are, kind of,” the Canadian answered. He moved to the mini fridge by the sink. It wasn’t very big and barely worked but it was enough for his beers. After opening and considering the row of cans, he reconsidered. He needed something for Clint to drink to, and probably eat. Boys his age were always hungry, right? “Secret agents, I mean, not a bad movie,” Logan continued, closing the fridge without taking anything. “You hungry? How do you feel about pizza? It’s the only place around here that delivers and we should keep out of sight until those spooks move on.”  
Clint nodded; swallowing again like his mouth was dry.   
“Fine,” Logan said, moving to the phone next to the bed. Clint’s eyes followed him, unblinkingly. “Got a preference?” When Clint shook his head, Logan shrugged and dialed. It only took a minute to order one large pepperoni and a large special. The kid could pick off what he didn’t want. He also ordered bread sticks and a couple liters of soda. He had ordered from the little mom and pop shop before so they had no trouble with him paying cash on delivery. It was better not to leave a paper trail. He’d talk to the kid about that later, but some life lessons could wait.  
“Alright,” Logan said as he hung up the phone. “The pizza will be here soon. In the meantime, we should talk.”  
Clint shrugged, his shoulders reaching his ears. “What do ya want to talk about?” he asked in a quiet, defensive voice.   
“For one thing, why would SHIELD be interested in you? It doesn’t add up,” Logan said. He kicked off his boots and swung his legs up on the bed. Clint hadn’t moved from his spot on the window and Logan needed him to relax before Logan lost his calm.  
Once Logan was lounging and presented no obvious threat, Clint did relax a little bit. He moved over to the only chair in the room, which was on the far end from the bed, and sat down gingerly, pulling his feet up under him so it looked like he was perched on the edge. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “What would they want with a carnie hick from Iowa?”  
“Don’t know,” Logan agreed.  
“Who are you anyway?” Clint asked. “You told them to leave, and they did.”  
Logan snorted. “I’m the best at what I do, bub. It gives me a certain amount of pull.” He considered leaving it at that, but decided to be straight with the kid. “What I do isn’t very nice, so I’ve got a bit of a rep to. They knew better than to push me.”  
Clint shook his head. “Then why the hell are you bothering with me? Surely a big shot like you has better things to do,” Clint said angrily.   
Most people would hear the anger and see the bravado and assume that Clint was just a bratty kid. Logan, however was not most people. He could smell the fear on the kid and read the insecurities in the question. He reflected on how to deal with this. Obviously, Clint was a lot more insecure than he appeared. Perhaps it was better not to address those issues quite yet; he’d wait for the boy to become more comfortable with him. Still he needed to answer the question. “Why not?” he said after a minute. “You seem like a good kid and you don’t deserve to be pulled into the shit-storm without someone going to bat for you.”  
“Seriously?” Clint yelped. Logan was reminded of a puppy barking at a bigger dog. “That’s the best you got? No one is that simple, Mr. Logan. What do you want from me? I ain’t going to put out to a hairy old man like you. And I don’t have any money either.”  
Now wasn’t that a kettle of worms that Logan didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole. He’d end up hunting some bastards and making them sing soprano. “Look here, bub,” he growled, sitting up and glaring at the youngster. “I have never and will never touch a kid like that. And I don’t swing that way, anyhow. Your virtue is safe with me.” Clint narrowed his eyes, obviously not trusting him. Logan threw his arms in the air in frustration. “You want to know the whole truth? Fine, the truth is I can’t stand back while someone is in trouble. I’ve tried but it’s only brought me more trouble. So, I see a kid who needs help and I see that SHIELD is involved and I can’t just ignore it. You’re my responsibility now whether you like it or not.”  
Clint crossed his arms and slouched in the chair, teenage rebellion written all over his face. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll just wait for you to get bored than I can deal with it my way.”  
Logan groaned and wiped a hand over his face. He was staring to sympathize with Chuck. The bald man would laugh if he could see Logan now. Luckily, he was saved from making a response by a knock on the door.   
Clint perked up, expecting food, but Logan waved him back. “Too early for pizza,” the older man said quietly, slinking to the door. “Wait over there.” He waved to the back corner of the room.   
The feral mutant relaxed as he got close to the door. A wave of manure, hay, popcorn and perfume told his nose who was at the door before he opened it. He smiled as he revealed the pretty trapeze girl from the show. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve got Clint’s stuff in the truck. Can you help me carry it?”  
“Right behind you, darlin’,” Logan said. He turned to Clint who was coming around the bed. “You stay out of sight for now. We’ll be right back.” Logan ushered the girl out and closed the door as he heard Clint moan “Aw, Missy, no.”  
The girl led the way to a beat up old Chevy. The bed was packed fun of circus gear but the cab was clear except for Clint’s belongings. It was also pretty clean, which Logan appreciated. One of the reasons he preferred his bike was it couldn’t get cluttered like some people’s cars. The girl, who introduced herself as Missy, directed Logan to carry the two canvas bags that were stuffed to bursting while she grabbed a long case.   
“Why’d he need to stay inside?” she asked as they walked back to the room.   
Logan could see Clint peeking through the curtains. He decided to tell a little white lie. “Those government men stopped by, asked if I’d seen anyone suspicious.” He shrugged, moving one of the bags higher on his shoulder. “I didn’t tell them anything, obviously, but better safe than sorry.”  
“Oh,” she sounded subdued. “Then he really is in trouble, huh? It’s a good thing he’s got someone looking after him then.”  
Logan didn’t reply, just lead the way inside. Clint was laying on the bed like he hadn’t been spying on them. He grinned when Missy came in behind Logan.  
“Hey Missy,” Clint exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He stumbled a little, but hurried to embrace his friend. He picked her up and swung her around until she giggled.  
“Clint,” she said breathlessly, “put me down, please. I’m getting dizzy.”  
The boy reluctantly let her down. “Aw, Missy, did you get all my stuff? You didn’t have to do that.” He was looking at the two bags that Logan dropped by the door.   
She turned to follow Clint’s gaze. “Yep, me and mama packed up everything we could find in the trailer and I’m pretty sure we packed a lot of Swordsman’s and Trickshot’s stuff too.” She grabbed the case she brought in. “Oh, and I brought your bow to.”  
Clint took the case reverently, but he didn’t open it, only laying it carefully on the bed. “Won’t they come looking for their stuff? Jacques real particular about his knives.”  
Missy shrugged. “They’re in the wind, and honestly, I won’t miss ‘em.”  
“Were they arrested?” Logan asked suddenly, startling the girl. He felt bad about that, he hadn’t meant to scare her.  
“We don’t think so,” she shook her head. “They were gone when we finally started looking for them. The government men left looking really mad, like super mad.”  
“Did you find the money they took?” Clint asked suddenly.  
“Yeah,” Missy said nodding so hard her ponytail flipped over her face. “It was in the trailer. We found it when we started packing your stuff. It wasn’t all there, but we recovered most of it.”  
“That’s great,” Clint said, relieved. His shoulders dropped, but when Missy looked at him, he grinned at her. “So what about me? Do they miss me yet?”  
Clint was staring at his bowcase, avoiding looking at Missy, but Logan was studying the girl so he saw her flinch. “I’m sorry, Clint, but Carson says he has to think about what’s best for the circus and…”  
“And, that’s not me,” Clint said, his voice quiet and fragile.   
Missy nodded sadly. “Those men threatened Mr. Carson, said that he was to call them if he saw any of you again or else they’d come back and ruin the circus. And after what Jacques and Buck did, well, you know. We stand by our own, but stealing from us that’s crossing a line. Madam Z said it would be best if you just never came back so there won’t be any trouble. They are all really sorry, Clint, but there isn’t anything we can do.” She hugged herself and avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. Clint helped with that, but Logan narrowed his eyes at her, not sure how he felt about all of this. “Oh and this is for you to. Gaffer said you’d earned it.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket and held it out to Clint. It was decently thick and smelled of money.  
Clint stared at the envelope for a long moment, and Logan could smell the misery coming off him. But when he looked up, he was wearing a cocky smile. “Don’t worry about me, Missy,” he said jauntily, stuffing the envelope in his pocket. He went up to her and took her face gently in his hands. “Buck up, ‘k?” He waited for her to return his smile. “That’s better. Don’t you see? This could be my big break, a chance to make something of myself. Just you wait, soon Hawkeye will be famous.” He brushed a stray hair out of her face. “You and the others just need to take care of yourselves, and don’t worry about me.”  
Missy threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. “They should have named you cat-eye, the way you always land on your feet,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  
They stayed like that for a long time until Logan cleared his throat to get her attention again. “Did the suits say what part of the government they were from?” he asked to cover their awkward parting. They didn’t seem to be attracted to each other, but they were certainly friends and this parting was hard on both of them.  
Missy seemed thankful for this distraction. They moved apart and Clint retreated back to where he left his bow case. “Not that I heard, though one of the clowns said they had official looking badges and John, one of the roustabouts, he was in the army and he said their guns were the real deal and not something you can get in the private sector,” she explained, her eyes narrowing as she tried to remember. She said the last part like she was quoting someone.   
Logan nodded, thinking that over. Finally he pulled out his wallet and took out of the cards that Chuck had printed for him. It just had the school’s number and his name on it. “Here take one of these. If those guys come back and cause trouble, call this number and ask for me. Tell them what’s wrong and I’ll get the message.”  
She took the card nervously. “You sure?” she asked suspiciously.  
Logan shrugged, not wanting to get into his motives. “I’ve got experience with this kind of thing. I’m not saying I can fix the problem but maybe I can help. Truthfully though, you’ll probably never see them again.” Whether they got what they wanted to not, it was unlikely that SHIELD would bother a small circus again without serious provocation. Still, he didn’t like leaving things to chance. These seemed like good people, even if they were leaving a young boy with a complete stranger.   
“Okay,” Missy said, putting the card in her pocket. “Thanks, Mister.”  
“You be careful, Missy,” Clint said earnestly. “These guys mean business. Don’t worry about me, though. I can handle myself.”  
“Of course you can, Clint.” She gave him another hug. “I better go. I need to catch up with the others.”  
“Sure,” Clint agreed. He saw her out but Logan stopped him from going outside.  
“I’ll walk her to her truck,” Logan said.   
“Don’t talk about me,” Clint joked but his tone was fragile.  
Outside, in the dimly lit parking lot, Missy turned to Logan. “Be nice to him, ‘k,” she ordered. “And watch his back. Oh, and don’t give up on him.” She was quiet for a second before she rounded on him again. “And don’t let him stop practicing. He’s really good, as you saw. Oh and he likes dogs, like all dogs. And…”  
“I get it, darling’,” he said holding up a hand as they got to the truck. “I’ll take as good care of him as I’m able, I promise.”  
“Good,” she said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but all that came out was, “Well, bye.” Then, she climbed into her truck and was soon just a pair of taillights on the road.   
Logan shook his head as he walked back to the room. What had he gotten himself into?  
Inside, Clint was sorting through one of the bags. His bow case was beside him, within sight and reach. He was pulling out a pair of socks when Logan walked in. He made a face and chucked them into the trash can, a perfect shot.  
“How much of that is yours?” Logan asked as he took a seat in the chair.   
“About half,” Clint admitted. “Missy and her ma probably couldn’t tell which corner was mine.” He pulled out a pair of underwear that followed the socks. “Aw, Buck, eww. It was pretty messy in there with the three of us. I moved in with Jacques when Barney left and I didn’t need a whole trailer for myself, and when Buck lost his in a poker game, he moved in with us. It was kinda tight.” He was trying for jovial, but Logan could smell his anxiety. “We made it work though; it wasn’t like we had much time for lounging in bed.”  
Logan snorted, letting the kid keep things light. “Two bachelors and a teenage boy? You’re lucky they didn’t pass out before they could gather your stuff.” He could smell the unwashed laundry from inside the bags and across the room. It was kind of taxing on his enhanced senses. He smiled at the memory of Ro complaining about his hygiene. “And I thought I was bad.”  
Clint looked up, and while it was fragile, he did have a real smile now. “Yeah, you’ve got a point. I think I picked up the most of the three of us, and I didn’t do it real often.” He ran a hand over his spare costume with a sigh. “Guess it don’t matter now.”  
Logan wasn’t sure what to say to that so he didn’t and they waited for the pizza in silence while Clint continued to sort through the bag. More laundry ended up in the trash and the kid did have perfect aim because not even one sock missed. It was kind of peaceful, with the silence only broken by Clint’s occasional groans of disgust as he tossed his mentor’s unmentionables. Logan was almost sad to hear the pizza truck pull up; almost. He was pretty hungry. He went outside to intercept the delivery boy, not that he thought SHIELD would check on his pizza order but being paranoid had saved him in the past.  
Clint must have been starving because his stomach rumbled loudly when Logan brought the boxes in. The boy shoved his pile of clothes and odds and ends back into his bag to clear off the bed.   
“Hold your horses, bub,” Logan admonished when Clint dove straight to the pizza. “Wash your hands first. You’ve been sorting through dirty laundry. I can smell you from here.”  
Clint rolled his eyes but complied. To set a good example, Logan washed his hands to before they both attacked the food with a vengeance.   
Clint moaned around his first bite of pizza. “Man, I was starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” At Logan’s raised eyebrow, Clint explained, talking around bites of pizza and breadstick. “I don’t like to eat before a show. It’s not that I get nervous or anything, I just don’t want a full stomach when I’m swinging upside down. Besides I gotta keep my figure, right?”  
Logan grunted in agreement. He didn’t say that the kid could use some more meat on his bones. After that, they kept their attention on the food.   
By the time they finished dinner, it was late enough that Clint was yawning. “Take the bed,” Logan ordered when the kid’s jaw threatened to dislocate.   
“No way, man,” Clint argued. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed. I’ll take the floor.”  
Logan shook his head. “Do what you want, but I’m sleeping in this chair. Either take the bed or leave it empty.” He settled into the chair, tipping his hat down over his eyes. It wasn’t real comfortable but he’d slept in worse and it wasn’t like he’d have to worry about a crick in his neck.  
Clint stared at Logan for a few minutes before grabbing something out of his bag and disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged he was wearing a tee-shirt and sweats. With another apprehensive glance at Logan, he turned off all the lights and settled into the bed. Logan watched the kid try to get comfortable. Clint ended up in a nest of sorts with the pillowed and blankets all wrapped around him. It was kind of funny, but Logan just smiled and let himself fall into a light doze.


	3. Chapter 3 - New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Sorry for the long pause, but this story caught me by the nose and has been leading me on a merry chase. I have six more chapters written and I'm just waiting for my beta to get back to me so I can start posting.   
> Couple things before you get back into the story: First, if you haven't figured it out yet, the point of view changes according to the symbol at the switch. Clint is the arrow, Logan is the "W". They trade places a lot in this chapter, so I don't want you to get confused. Second, the course of this story has shifted a little. It was going to be realively short and sweet, but it has bloomed into a massive undertaking. Stick with me please.   
> Thank you. Now enjoy some shenanigans from my two favorite characters.

Chapter 3-New Beginnings

>>>>>>===============>

Clint had never, ever, in his whole life, liked mornings; so when he woke up in a musty smelling blanket on a lumpy mattress, which was definitely not his bunk at the circus, he just groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head.   
“Rise and shine, bub,” he heard someone say from outside his cocoon.  
“Aw, morning, no,” Clint whined.  
The voice chuckled. “I’m going outside for a smoke. You should finish waking up by the time I get back.”  
Clint heard a door open and close, so he guessed he was alone. He knew where he was, really. It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t with the circus, so yesterday hadn’t been a dream. He pulled the blanket tighter over his head. He wished it had been. He wished that he would wake up and he’d be back in that ratty trailer with Jacques and Buck. He wished that he was still welcome in the circus that had been his home since he was 9. He wished that he still had mentors who, while rough around the edges and merciless in their training, did care about him, probably, maybe. But like the saying goes, if wishes were fishes or horses or whatever. It was early; he couldn’t remember a pointless aphorism. Instead he had to face the reality that yet again he had to start over from scratch and this time he was alone, without his brother. He pulled the smelly comforter tighter around his head and allowed himself to wallow. It wasn’t fair. He had loved the circus. He loved the animals and the people. He loved the training, most of the time, and being Hawkeye. He loved being the center of attention and hearing the crowd cheer for him. Now it was all gone. He was all alone with a hairy, stinky old man and hunted by some shadow government agency which meant he had to rely on the weird old man. It sucked.   
For a minute, Clint allowed himself to imagine running off on his own. He would be his own man and no one could tell him what to do. He could be a superhero like Captain America, using his trusty bow to take down bad guys. He imagined becoming a famous hero and saving damsels in distress and having enough money to buy whatever he wanted and never going hungry gain. He smiled as he dreamed about using a boomerang arrow to take out a dozen goons and saving Captain America. Cap would smile at him and thank him and offer him a place on his team and it would be amazing.   
But it was just a dream, and with a sigh, Clint made himself consider the facts. He was a fourteen year old boy who hadn’t even finished primary school. He could read okay and do his maths, thanks to some of the people at the circus but it wasn’t like a normal education. If he ran, he’d end up on the streets, hungry, cold and still hunted by SHIELD, whoever they were. He really, really hated to admit it, but he owed Logan big time for getting him out before those guys found him and for driving them off last night. Even worse, Clint knew he needed to stick with the man a while longer, at least until they figured out why SHIELD wanted him and how to get them to back off. He only hoped Logan didn’t try to put him back in the system. He shuddered and burrowed deeper into the blankets at the thought of the orphanage he and Barney had run away from. No way was he going back to someplace like that. The streets would be better.  
The door opened again. Clint peeked out of the blankets to see Logan watching him from the door with a bemused expression on his face. Clint blinked but didn’t retreat back into his nest, yet.  
“Mornin’” Logan said. “You plannin’ on comin’ on out sometime today?”  
“No,” Clint said, spitefully and burrowed back into the blankets. He wasn’t ready to deal with the day, despite his decision to stick with Logan.   
“Fine, but if you want a shower before breakfast, you better hurry. I want to make it in time for the early bird special at a diner down the road,” the old geezer said, seemingly unbothered by Clint’s attitude.  
“You go first,” Clint mumbled.  
Logan made an amused snorting sound. “Why?”  
As usual, Clint’s mouth ran away with him before he had a chance to sensor himself. “’Cause I can smell you from here, old man,” he snarked. Then he flinched. He hadn’t really meant to be rude, but at least now he’d see if his new guardian could take a joke. Better to find out sooner rather than later. He could still run if he needed to.  
Luckily, Logan laughed softly. “Fine, bub, but only if you promise to wash off the stink of teenage angst before we leave.”  
Clint wasn’t sure what teenage angst smelled like, but he did want to take a hot shower. It would be a luxury that he rarely enjoyed. “Whatever you say, old man,” he replied. “Just leave me some hot water.”  
“If you’re lucky, kid,” Logan said as he closed the door and moved toward the bathroom.  
“I’m not a kid,” Clint insisted. He sat up with the blankets wrapped around him and up over his head.   
Logan rolled his eyes. “You are to me, kiddo.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“Means I’m older than dirt, and you look like a baby to me,” Logan said as he disappeared into the bathroom. After a minute the shower turned on.  
Clint sighed. Mornings sucked but he was really hungry and they didn’t have any leftover pizza from the night before. He should have saved some. So he forced himself out of the nice warm bedding to pull his bag, the one he had finished going through onto the bed so he could pull out some relatively clean clothes. There had been some at the bottom of the bag. Apparently Missy and her ma had emptied his drawer into the bag first then started shoving whatever they could find in on top. As he pulled out a clean shirt, purple, and a pair of jeans, he noticed the envelope that Missy gave him. He pulled it out and held it in his hands for a long moment. It was pretty thick, thicker than he expected. It was probably singles, from the tip jar. That’s why it was so thick. He’d be lucky to get fifty bucks. Bracing himself, he peeled it open. Inside was the wad of bills he expected and a folded piece of notebook paper. He pulled it out and choked back a sob. On the paper, written in a dozen handwritings, were good luck messages and good byes. Most of them had a phone number or address too. It was more than Clint had expected or hoped for. As he read each “good luck” or “knock ‘em dead” he felt a little lighter. The circus folk hadn’t thrown him away or abandoned him. They wanted to keep in touch, wanted to know he would be okay. He was still on his own with a crazy old man with connections and a reputation with a weird shadow agency, but there were people in the world who cared enough about Clint to say “don’t you dare just end up in a ditch somewhere, you punk.” Harsh, but encouraging. Clint could feel himself beaming, and he didn’t care.  
He carefully put the paper down, intending to stash it in the hidden pocket in his quiver, where he kept his important mementos. Then he returned to the envelope and flipped through the money. It took his breath away. He had expected singles with a couple fivers, maybe, but instead they were almost all $10’s and $20’s. This was more money than he’d ever had for himself in his life. There was probably more than $500.00 in there.   
Clint jerked back to his surrounding when he heard the shower turn off. With his heart in his throat, he took out half the money and shoved it into a hidden pocket in the duffle bag. Then he grabbed his bowcase and jerked it open. He ignored his bow for now and hid a couple twenties in the lining of the case and another handful of bills with the note in the pocket of his quiver. That left him with about $150.00 in tens. With a glance at the bathroom door, he quickly stuffed a couple bills in the socks he was going to change into and the rest in his pockets. He closed the case and slid it back in the corner just as Logan came out of the shower.  
His heart pounding, Clint tried to look unconcerned. “I thought it was a trick of the light, last night, but your hair really does stick up like that. Do you put product in it to do that?” he said, trying to sound natural.   
Logan stopped drying his hair to give him a quirked eyebrow. Clint had never been able to do that trick and he wondered if the guy would be willing to teach him. He focused on that rather than his panic that Logan somehow knew what he had done. “It’s always been like this,” Logan said, sounding very unimpressed. “Go take your shower, short stuff.”  
Clint grabbed the clothes he had pulled out. “Like you’re one to talk,” he said just as he was closing the door so Logan couldn’t retort. But he closed the door too fast and the pants he was carrying got caught. “Aw, door, no,” he lamented as he opened the door to a grinning Logan. Being the mature 14 that he was, Clint stuck out his tongue and closed the door again, this time without catching anything.

 

After Clint’s shower, they rode down to the diner on Logan’s motorcycle. It wasn’t Clint’s first time on a motorcycle but Logan had only one helmet and it was pretty big on the teen, not to mention uncomfortable. Logan wouldn’t let him ride without, though so he had to deal with it. He was more than ready to take it off by the time Logan pulled into a parking space.   
“Aw, ears,” Clint whined as he pulled the helmet off.   
Logan huffed in amusement as Clint rubbed his sore ears. “If you’re going to stick with me, we’ll have to get you your own helmet, or we find another option.”  
Clint blinked, unsure how he felt about that comment and all the implications in it. He really wasn’t sure what to say, so he held his tongue until they are seated in a booth inside a stereotypical roadside diner, complete with sassy older waitress in a pink uniform. “So, um,” Clint began but he completely lost what he was going to say. He didn’t want to jinx himself somehow.  
Logan raised an eyebrow at him, but when Clint couldn’t get any words out, he turned his attention to the waitress. He ordered coffee and the breakfast special for himself and waved at Clint to get what he wanted.   
“Coffee, please,” Clint said quickly, so Logan wouldn’t have a chance to take back his permission. “And a chocolate milk?”  
“Sure, hun’,”agreed the waitress, an older lady with blue grey hair and twinkling blue eyes, “and to eat?”  
“Pancakes with hash browns and bacon,” Clint decided quickly, because that was written on the board over the counter. He hadn’t had good pancakes in a very long time.  
“Sure, hun’,” she said, writing their orders down. “It won’t be but a minute.”  
Logan shot her a grin that made the woman blush like a schoolgirl. He must have had an ulterior motive, because she was really quick about coming back with their coffees and Clint’s milk.   
As Clint doctored his coffee how he liked it, Logan watched him closely. Clint felt his attention, and while uncomfortable, he didn’t feel threatened. He tried to ignore the other man and just focused on his coffee. He added sugar and cream until his coffee was the same color as his chocolate milk. He took a sip and sighed in bliss. Logan laughed and turned to watch out the window, leaving Clint to bask in his caffeine sugarbomb.  
Neither of them had broken the silence when their food came. After the waitress, her name tag proudly declared her name as Mary, left them with the promise to call her if they needed anything, Clint cleared his throat.  
“We’ll talk after we eat,” Logan interrupted, already cutting into the huge slice of ham that came with his meal. “You’ll feel better with a full stomach and then maybe your mind’ll be calmer to.”  
Clint shrugged and dug into his pancakes with a will. They were delicious, light and fluffy and dripping with syrup and butter. He kind of lost track of everything as he focused on his food, but soon enough his plate was empty, his glass was empty and he was out of excuses. Logan had finished before him, and sat watching, while he nursed his coffee. Mary had refilled their cups once already, but Clint wasn’t sure more caffeine would be a good idea. He already felt jumpy.  
“I’ll start,” Logan said, finally. “Our first order of business is get out of here before SHIELD comes back lookin’ for you. Since they bothered to ask me for help, I don’t figure on them giving up on you so easy. So we need to get moving and lay low until I can call my contacts. Then you have some decisions to make.”  
“Me?” Clint squeaked.   
Logan’s expression softened. “Yeah, you, kiddo. I’m not dragging you across the country against your will. We need to discuss your options and you will decide what you want to do from there. Whatever your decision, I’ll help as best I can.”  
Clint stared into his coffee and took a sip to ground himself. He was not used to people asking his opinion about his future. Usually people just decided for him and he made the best of whatever situation he ended up in. “What if I don’t know my options?” he asked carefully.  
“That’s why we’ll talk about them. But first we move. Finish your coffee and we’ll go into town to get what you need,” Logan said. He considered Clint’s clothes. “We need a helmet for you that won’t hurt and better pants and a jacket. Anything else we’ll pick up later.”  
Clint looked at the holes in the knees of his jeans. A long ride would be miserable in frayed jeans and a t-shirt, but he only had so much money and no way to make more. “I’ll be okay,” he tried, “I don’t need anything right now.”  
Logan scowled and drained the last of his coffee. He pulled out his wallet and threw a couple bills on the table. “Not up for discussion. I’ll pay for it. Let’s go.”  
He didn’t wait for Clint’s acknowledgement, just turned and walked to the door, leaving Clint to scramble to catch up. Outside, Logan tossed him the helmet and watched him put it on.   
“I don’t like wearing it either but I keep if for two reasons,” Logan explained before he mounted the bike. “First, it is law in some parts and I don’t want a ticket. Second, it hides my face if I need to keep a low profile. I will be wearing it when we leave town. That is why I’m buying you, your own. Understand?”  
Clint sighed, but he could see the logic in that. “Okay,” he grumbled, “but only if I can get a purple one.”  
Logan laughed and shook his head as he got on his bike and let Clint climb on behind him. “Sure, kid,” he agreed. “We’ll find you a purple one.”

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Finding a purple bike helmet was easier than Logan had expected. Apparently a lot of women who rode, either solo or with their beaus, wanted their own personalized helmet. It was entertaining watching the kid decide between a deep jewel tone purple and a light sparkly purple. He decided on the jewel tone mostly for the better fit rather than the less obnoxious color, but Logan breathed a sigh of relief anyway. The road appropriate pants and jacket were easy to, since they bought them at the same place.  
The bigger problem was packing the kid’s meager belongings on the bike. Together with Logan’s gear, Clint’s two bags and bowcase were too much to fit on the bike without risking a road hazard. Logan wasn’t really attached to anything he had with him since he had stashed his more valuable belongings at the school, but he did need to keep at least a couple changes of clothes with him. He pared down his stuff to about only about two thirds since he had already been traveling light. He left a bag with the hotel clerk to donate to charity. Clint was less willing to part with his possessions.  
“Look kid, we can buy you new clothes later,” Logan sighed, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. “Most of this stuff is threadbare anyway and it smells like dung.”  
Clint glared at him before sniffing the shirt he was holding. “It does not,” he shot back, throwing the shirt in the “keep” pile. He had gotten rid of a lot, since there had been a large percentage of his mentor’s belongings, but it was still more than would fit on the bike. “And I don’t want to waste money on stuff that I already have.” He added a set of throwing knives to the pile.  
“I said I’d cover it,” Logan growled, having already had this argument, twice. “And before you say anything, it’s not charity. It’s me paying you back for making you dump your stuff. Be smart, kid, and let me help.” Logan really did understand. He didn’t have many possessions that he really cared about, but they were precious and he’s fought tooth and nail to keep them through the years. Clint didn’t have much and Logan was asking him to throw much of it away. He knew it was hurting the kid and he was trying his best to make allowances, but time was of the essence here. They needed to get out before SHIELD set up surveillance, if they hadn’t already. “Look, I’m not askin’ ya to toss your bow and arrows or any of your keepsakes. Just leave the bulkier clothes.”  
Clint sighed, his whole body curling in on itself. “I know, it’s just hard, ya know?” he said softly. “It’s like if I get rid of this stuff I’m getting rid of the me who wore them.”  
Logan shook his head and went over to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Clint flinched but didn’t shrug it off. “I know what you mean,” Logan said gently. “I’ve had to do that before, walking away from who I was as I left everything behind. It’s not easy and it doesn’t get easier.” He shrugged when Clint looked over with wide eyes. “Look, don’t think of it as throwing away a part of you, think of it as growin’. Like you told the gal last night, this is a chance for you. Take it and reinvent yourself, become better.”  
Clint sighed again but threw his shoulders back. “You’re right, I should make the most of this.” He gave Logan a lopsided grin with just the right amount of mischievous. “You’re buying?” Logan nodded, wondering where he was going with this. “Then I should take advantage.” In no time at all, his pile was much smaller with most of his handed-down, worn-out clothes in the “leave” pile.   
Logan shook his head and waded in for the first time. He pulled out a couple shirts and a pair of jeans that were sturdy despite the paint stains and put them back in the “keep” pile. “Keep some grubby clothes,” he said and helped Clint pack what was left into one duffle with room to spare. “We’ll get you replacements when we’ve got some distance behind us.”   
Nothing else was said as Logan strapped everything to his bike and they were cruising down the highway. He hadn’t told the kid where they were going and Clint didn’t ask. It was just as well, since Logan was making it up as went along. He considered going up into Canada, but if SHIELD was an issue, he didn’t want to cause an international incident. Besides, the kid didn’t have a passport. So they headed west, into the Rockies where it would be easy to spot a tail on the high mountain passes. From there they’d work their way south. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind so hopefully no one would be able to predict their route.  
They stopped for lunch after only a few hours, so Logan could see how Clint was holding up. The kid was subdued, but didn’t seem worn-out so after they ate, they kept moving. Logan figured they’d hit the edge of Yellowstone by dark. They’d skirt the park, too many people, and continue South until Colorado. Then they’d head East. He had more contacts on the East Coast and he had a feeling he’d need them.  
“How do you feel about sleeping rough?” Logan asked when they stopped to stretch their legs after a few more hours on the road. It was time to start thinking about where to stop.   
Clint shrugged. “Done it before,” he admitted. “Don’t like it much, but then sometimes you don’t have a choice, right?”  
Logan nodded as he stared down the road considering their options. “It’s cheaper and more discrete if we find a spot out of the way to crash for the night. It’d probably throw off anyone tracking us.”  
Clint nodded, though he huddled in his jacket, despite the warmth of the afternoon. “Let’s do that then,” he agreed.   
“Good, I’ll start lookin’ for a place, you just keep hanging on. You’re doing well, kid,” Logan said and reached over to ruffle Clint’s hair. The boy leaned into the touch and grinned at the praise.   
They stopped at a general store and picked up some food for dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning. Then Logan started watching for a place to pull off. They hit paydirt after another hour or so when he saw a dirt track that led off into a clump of trees. Pulling in, it looked like an old camp ground that had been abandoned. It was easy enough to start a fire and layout some bedrolls before true darkness set in.   
Clint had withdrawn even more when they stopped, and it wasn’t just being tired after riding all day. He did everything Logan told him with no complaint but he didn’t offer his own opinion either. Finally, Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He handed the kid a warmed up can of soup and broke the silence. “Where’s your head at, bub?” he asked. “You’ve been moping since lunch.”  
Clint flinched. “I’m just wondering what you’re going to do with me.”  
Logan snorted and grabbed his own can. “I’m not doing anything,” he started but when Clint flinched again, Logan sighed and continued in a gentler tone. “I told you that we’d talk about your options and you can choose. You’re in charge, kiddo.” Clint’s eyes widened in disbelief, but he didn’t say anything so Logan kept going. “You tell me what you want and I’d do my damnest to make it happen. So what do you want?”  
Clint stared into his soup and slowly took a bite before he answered, but Logan didn’t press. They had all night. Finally Clint said, “I don’t have as many options as you seem to think.”  
Logan shook his head. The poor kid seemed more lost than he’d been the other night and he wondered what Clint had been thinking about this whole time. It couldn’t be good. “Well, let’s list ‘em then. I bet you have more than you think.” He put down his can and pulled out the little notebook he kept in his pocket. He mostly used it to keep track of his mileage but it had other uses. “Slim’d laugh his ass off if he saw me makin’ a list, but it’ll be easiest this way. Okay, first question, do you have any family to go to? Anyone who’d take you in?”  
Clint scoffed. “If I did, you’d think I’d be in the circus at 14?”  
“I don’t judge,” Logan replied. “Fine, so your first option is to stick it out with me. We’d be traveling a lot and there’ll be some legal issues we’d have to work out, but I’d help you deal with whatever SHIELD is up to and watch your back.”  
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Clint said quietly. He was hunched over his soup, like he was trying to appear smaller. He seemed to do that a lot.  
“Don’t make up your mind till we discuss everything,” Logan warned. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help the kid, but he really wasn’t the best guardian for a teenager and he felt Clint deserved better. But if, once Clint had all the facts and gave it some serious thought, that was what he wanted; like Logan said, he’d make it happen. “We could put you back in the system, and I know people who’ll make sure you end up somewhere nice. I’d still watch your back, too.”  
Clint shook his head violently at that suggestion. “No way, there was a reason Barney and I ran from the group home. I’m not going back to that, ever. I’d rather sleep on the streets.”  
“That’s an option too,” Logan offered and at Clint’s startled look he shrugged. “It’s not a good option and I don’t think I’d really let you choose it, but hey we’re just making a list right now. They don’t all have to be winners.”  
“Yeah, I don’t really like that idea either,” Clint admitted. He finally finished his soup can and put it down. When he pulled up his knees his chest, he looked like he was perched on the log.   
“In the spirit of bad choices, we could just give you to SHIELD. I’m thinking they want to recruit you, which is odd but it’d be a structured environment that you’d probably thrive in, given time,” Logan threw out, just to see Clint’s reaction.  
Clint sneered. “Nah, like you said, it smells funny. Why’d they want a scrawny teenager anyway? Probably for nothing good.”  
“True,” Logan agreed. “Are you interested in school though? I got another friend who could probably get you in one of those fancy boarding schools or a military academy. You could get an education.”  
Clint shrugged. “Too stupid,” he said indifferently. “Last time I was in a classroom was maybe five years ago and I wasn’t exactly top of the class. I can shoot, that’s about all I’m good for.”  
Logan growled deep in his chest, startling Clint so he fell off his log. “Stow it with that kind of nonsense. You’re a bright kid. I can see that after spending two days with you, and whoever told you different was a bastard.” He picked his can back up and viciously ate his soup until he calmed down enough to talk again. Clint stared at him with wide eyes, like a terrified rabbit. Logan figured he had some bad experiences with angry men and the thought just made him angrier. Finally, when Logan had relaxed again, he picked the notebook back up and considered it. “I can see where a normal school wouldn’t be a good fit,” he admitted and Clint perked up.   
“Yeah, I’m too cool for school,” the kid joked as he uncurled a little.   
Logan huffed. “I do know of a school that caters to unusual circumstance, but you’re not really the demographic they usually look for. We can try though, if you’re interested.”  
“Not really,” Clint admitted. “I do want to learn, sure, but I wouldn’t fit. Besides, your shadow agency is still an issue.”  
“True,” Logan nodded. “I think we should wait on making a decision until I find out what’s going on.” He threw back his head and groaned. “I need to call Fury. Then he’ll want to do his covert spy thing with secret meetings and code words.”  
Clint laughed. “That sounds awesome.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked over at Logan with a sheepish expression. “What would you say if I said that out of all the options we talked about, I kinda would like to stay with you?”  
Logan snorted, looking into the fire so Clint couldn’t see his face “Then we make it work, but I’m warning you, I’ve got my own problems. It probably isn’t the safest option.”  
“Yeah, but I like you so far,” Clint said with a shrug. “You’ve been nice and taken care of me and promised to protect me. No one has done that since Barney,” he turned away to stare into the fire to, “and even he hadn’t done it in a long time.”  
Logan got up to move next to the boy and lay a hand on his shoulder. Clint flinched, like before, but didn’t pull away so Logan left his hand there. “I ain’t gonna make promises I can’t keep, Clint,” Logan said, choosing his words carefully. “But I promise to do my best by you, even if you decided to go with someone else. I don’t think you’ve heard it enough, but you are a good kid and you deserve at least that much.”  
“Yeah, well, that’s not usually what people say I deserve,” Clint said in a small voice.  
“Then they’re idiots, not that I listen to what people say anyway,” Logan retorted. He sighed. “That’s enough heavy stuff for tonight. I’ll give ya’ till tomorrow to think about it some more and if you still feel like that, I’ll fill you in a bit on my side of the equation. It could change your mind, just warning ya.”  
Clint shrugged and leaned so he was resting against Logan’s shoulder. “I’m always up for an adventure. Not sure if you know this about me, but I grew up in the circus.”  
With a laugh, Logan gently pushed the kid off and got up to fetch the water to put their fire out. “You’re a real riot,” he said, with more affection then he intended. “Now go to bed, brat. I want to make an early start.”  
Clint laughed and quickly curled up in his bedroll. “Good night, Logan,” he said softly into the quiet night air.   
“Night, kid,” Logan answered as he lay down. They had a long way to go, Logan mused as he stared at the stars. He still didn’t think he was the best choice for the boy, but he wasn’t going to take away the boy’s right to choose his own fate. Clint didn’t know that Logan was a mutant though, so they needed to have that conversation which would lead to the conversation of Logan’s history and his enemies. Sabertooth had been quiet lately, but Logan didn’t figure on that lasting very long. Clint needed to be aware of the dangers. Regardless, everything could wait until tomorrow. As he heard Clint’s breathing deepen into sleep, Logan closed his eyes and let himself sink into slumber, too.


	4. Chapter 4- New Day, New Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Two chapters in one day. What a great way to start off the new year. This chapter is a little heavier mostly because Clint is 14 and has issues, but don't worry. They will still have fun and we're gearing up to a couple really exciting chapters. Enjoy and we'll see you next week!

>>>>===========>

After an invigorating breakfast of instant oatmeal and coffee strong enough to put hairs on Clint’s chest, the young archer felt ready for another day of traveling. He had slept great despite being out in the open. The long ride on the motorcycle had left him exhausted and after that emotional roller-coaster of a conversation over the campfire he had passed out as soon as he lay down. Now, he was even feeling good enough to try to converse with his unlikely companion.   
“So where are we heading?” Clint asked as he watched Logan clean up their campsite. It was actually pretty interesting. Logan’s method was very different than what Clint was used to from the circus. Before he became Hawkeye, and most of the time after, Clint had helped with packing up and moving the many parts that made up the circus. It was labor intensive but not very detailed oriented. As long as nothing of importance was left behind, they didn’t care what the place looked like in the circus’s wake. Logan, though, focused on leaving no trace. He even swept out their footprints and buried their ashes before he declared them ready to move on.  
Logan looked up from where he was scattering dried leaves over where they had slept. “South, into Colorado, I think,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t have a specific destination in mind.”  
“Oh,” Clint said, turning that over. “Where would you go if you didn’t have to drag me along?”  
The man snorted, sounding amused. “Probably up into Canada,” he said thoughtfully. “A few weeks in the Canadian Rockies before making my way back East. Who knows?”  
Clint made a face. “Why Canada?”  
“I’m Canadian, bub, so you keep your opinions to yourself,” the apparently Canadian man laughed. He gently bumped Clint’s shoulder.  
“But I haven’t heard you say ‘eh’ or ‘hoosier’ once,” Clint teased.  
Logan shook his head and tossed Clint his purple helmet. “Drop it,” he warned lightly, though Clint was sure he was trying not to smile. “Let’s go.”  
Back on the open road, Clint was surprised how much he liked riding like this. He had expected to be nervous to be this close to an adult for this long, but somehow Logan had become “harmless” in his head so he didn’t mind clinging to the man as they roared down the road. The ride was fun too, more fun even than traveling with the circus. They stayed off the main roads, kind of exploring. Clint watched the land change from forest to plains and back again. He watched for wildlife, like deer and hawks. Once he even saw an eagle. It was awesome. Sure he had worked with exotics like lions and tigers but there was something majestic about seeing an eagle in the wild.   
When they stopped at a fast food joint for lunch, it was the only place that sold food in the itty bitty town, Clint mentioned it to Logan. The teenager wanted to share that moment with someone and his self-appointed guardian was the only one around. He kind expected to be teased about it, but Logan surprised him.  
“Good eye,” the man said around a bite of greasy burger. “I wasn’t sure you’d see it. Looked like a golden eagle, and big enough to be a female. If you watch the telephone poles, sometimes you can spot their nests.”  
Clint blinked in surprise. “You don’t think it’s lame that I thought it was cool?” A raised eyebrow was his only answer. Clint cleared his throat. “Did you see those deer about an hour back? They were back in the trees.”  
“Yep,” Logan nodded. “Did you see the faun with them? It must have been born late to still have spots this late in the year.”  
Clint shook his head in amazement. “No, I didn’t. How’d I miss that?”  
“Keep your eyes open for this leg,” Logan encouraged. He got up to toss his trash and held out his hand to take Clint’s but Clint just tossed his ball of greasy paper straight into the can. “We’ll make it a competition. See who can see the most wildlife.”  
“I’m not going to lose, old man,” Clint laughed as he led the way out to the bike.   
“We’ll see, kiddo.”

At their next stop, which was for gas, Clint and Logan compared their sightings. Logan won by two deer and three jackrabbits, though Clint had seen more hawks and other birds in the distance.  
“No one has been able to match me when it comes to spotting stuff,” Clint pouted. “That’s why they called me Hawkeye. I don’t get it.”  
“I know what to look for,” Logan said with a shrug. “You’ll pick it up.”  
“Are you sure you didn’t cheat?” Clint pressed. It really bothered him that Logan beat him. If he wasn’t the best, then what good was he?  
“Nope,” Logan answered. “I’ve just got experience.”  
“Just ‘cause your old,” Clint teased, sticking out his tongue. “Old fogey.” He was trying to keep it light, but he was having fun and not watching what he was saying as closely as he should have.   
“Watch it,” Logan warned. “I’m not so old I can’t stay ahead of you.”  
Clint felt his stomach clench, but he hid it with a grin. “Sure, grandpa.”  
Logan rolled his eyes. “We’ll stop early tonight,” he said, changing the subject. Clint let himself relax. “I know a little inn just past the Colorado border.” He smiled softly, probably remembering something nice. “First time I stayed there, they didn’t even have electricity yet.”  
“Seriously?” Clint laughed. “How old are you? Were cars invented yet?”  
“Ha, ha,” Logan shot back. He grabbed Clint’s helmet off the bike and tossed it a little harder than he needed to right at Clint’s stomach. “It was just built and it was high enough in the mountains that it took a while to lay the lines for phones and electricity is all.”  
Still laughing, Clint dropped it for now and climbed on the bike. He was glad to hear that it would be a shorter day. His legs were starting to ache and he was sure he was walking bow-legged. He stifled a grin into Logan’s leather jacket. Bow-legged archer, he’d have to remember that one.   
“Keep an eye out as we start climbing,” Logan called back when they stopped at a red light. “If you’re lucky, you might spot some elk.”  
“What do they look like?” Clint asked, curious.   
“Sort of like deer, but bigger,” Logan said, without the derision Clint had expected for his ignorance. “I’ll point one out if I see it. And if we pass cliffs, look for mountain goats.”  
Clint nodded, but the light turned green so he didn’t have to answer. It was just as well. Maybe if he had enough questions when they stopped for the night, they wouldn’t have to talk about the future and he’d be able to enjoy this a little longer. In his 14 years, Clint had learned to appreciate the moment because it never lasted very long. 

They reached Logan’s little hotel just in front of a summer cloudburst. Sadly, they weren’t far enough ahead because Logan was still checking in when the heavens opened up and started pouring buckets down on Clint’s head. He scrambled to get their gear off the bike and undercover, cursing under his breath as rivers of water flowed down his collar. He couldn’t believe how cold the water was, considering it was midafternoon in late July. He was soaked and shivering by the time he dragged everything under the hotel’s porch.   
Logan came out holding two keys on wooden keychains. He met Clint’s glare without flinching.   
“Let’s get you inside and in a hot shower,” Logan said with only the twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement at Clint’s drowned rat look. “This won’t last long and we can go to the Hungry Logger for dinner when it lets up.”  
“Sh...sh…sure,” Clint chattered. A hot shower sounded really good right now. He grumbled miserably as he followed Logan to their room.   
It was a nicer hotel than the last place. The room smelled clean and the two twin beds frames were made from real logs. The walls were painted in a faded forest green that actually complemented the blue bedspreads. There was a table and two chairs, also made from rough logs, and a beat-up old minifridge that when opened was surprisingly cold.   
“My stuff’s alright,” Logan said, dumping his bags on one bed. “These bags are pretty much waterproof. How’s that duffle?”  
Clint swore as he jerked open his bag. He knew the stupid thing had once been waterproofed but that was a long time ago. As he suspected the first few layers of his belongs were damp. “Aw, water, no,” he whined. He looked up at his guardian with a hangdog expression which made Logan laugh.   
“We can hang stuff to dry,” Logan offered. “And since we’re not on any schedule, if we need to stay an extra day, that’s fine. In fact that might not be a bad idea. Town’s only about half an hour ride away. We can pick you up a better bag and some of those replacements I promised you. How’s that sound?”  
“Whatever you want,” Clint answered carefully after a moment. He wasn’t sure what Logan wanted from him so he wasn’t ready to give his opinion, not when it could be wrong. They had been getting along well and Clint wasn’t going to jeopardize that, so he deferred to Logan’s judgement.  
The older man didn’t like that answer though. He growled deep in his chest and Clint flinched away from him reflexively. “No, it’s what you want. If you wanted to go back out in that mess, we’d do it. If I ask your opinion, I want it, not what you think I want.”  
A wave of frustration rose in Clint’s chest, and he clenched his fists. Suddenly he didn’t feel so cold anymore. “You say that, but no one ever means that,” he shot back accusingly.   
Logan sighed from his own frustration and ran a hand through his weird spiky hair. Clint had been amazed that regardless of the wind those stupid points persisted. Logan was never bothered by helmet hair, while Clint’s stood up in a static cloud every time. “I always mean what I say, bub,” the man said gruffly, returning Clint to the conversation. “I won’t always agree with you and sometimes I’ll veto your choice but I will always prefer an honest answer.”   
“People always say that,” Clint argued, getting heated. He hated it when adults offered him nice words only to hurt him with their actions. At least the cruel ones were up front about it and he could protect himself from the beginning. He hadn’t thought Logan was like that, and he felt betrayed.  
“I’m not having this spat with you while you stand there dripping wet and asking to catch pneumonia,” Logan snarled. He stalked across the room and snagged a towel off the counter by the sink. He threw the cloth at Clint so it covered his head. “Take a shower and maybe it’ll give your temper and mine a chance to cool off.”  
Clint felt his anger deflate like a popped balloon. He suddenly felt empty and a little scared, but there was no way he’d give this stranger another weakness to exploit. “Fine,” Clint shouted, grabbing the towel and shoving his way past the guy to get in the bathroom. He slammed the door with as much force as he could muster in the small space, ignore the bewildered look on Logan’s face. With a muttered oath he stripped off his soggy clothes and started the shower, angrily twisting the handles to make the water as hot as he could stand. Once he stepped into the water though, he just slipped to the bottom of the tub and clutched his knees to his chest. Isolated from everything by the locked door and the sound of the shower, Clint let himself sob into his boney knees.   
He was certain that he had just driven off the closest thing to a friend that he had left in the world. Why didn’t he just agree with Logan and drop it? Why’d he have to go pick a fight with the man? Now Logan would see that Clint wasn’t worth his time. He’d leave him here or drop him off at a police station or something. Then Clint would be alone, again. If only he was better about keeping his mouth shut. Swordsman had always said that it was his mouth that got him in trouble; that earned him punishment. Clint was just a stupid kid and he should know better than to fight with adults who knew better. The teenager’s mind spun in a maelstrom of misery and regret. He couldn’t pull himself out of it until the water from the showerhead started to cool. 

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Logan stared at the bathroom door feeling a strange cocktail of emotions swirling in his stomach. He was annoyed at the boy for not standing up for himself; he was sad for the miasma of fear that Clint had let off when they started fighting; and he was angry but he couldn’t decide who he was angry at. He snarled to himself and threw himself on the bed. In contrast to the sturdy furniture, the walls of the hotel were surprisingly thin, so it was easy for Logan’s enhanced hearing to pick of the sounds of Clint crying to himself in the shower. Logan sat back up, unable to just lay down and listen to that heartrending sound. His hands fisted in the bedding, but he kept his claws sheathed. This was not something he could fix by stabbing something. He glanced at the telephone on the small table between the beds. He could call Fury. It would be a distraction from the distraught teenager in the other room.   
He had the receiver in his hand before he decided to wait. If he wanted to kid to trust him, Logan couldn’t hide anything from him, including a meet with the man who ran the outfit who was looking for the kid. Logan wanted that trust, needed it if Clint was going to stay with him. Unable to listen to the quiet sobs, which were slowing down at least, the mutant grabbed his hat and a cigar and went outside.   
It was still raining, though it was starting to slack off, as Logan lit up his cigar. It would be clear within an hour and they could see about getting something to eat. First they’d have to talk. Logan was not looking forward to that, though he had been thinking about how to have that talk all day. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done to set the kid off, but before he knew what was happening Clint was yelling and Logan was snarling. Before it got worse or the kid got sick, Logan sent him to take a shower, but even that backfired because it left the boy crying his heart out in the shower.   
This kind of thing was exactly why Logan left the school in Westchester in the first place. He was not a teacher. He had been a soldier, and he could train soldiers and lead them if need be; but kids were another matter. Chuck didn’t seem to understand that and the telepath had kept pushing to Logan to teach the poor mutant kids that they found and/or picked up. Logan got along fine with kids, don’t get him wrong. They liked him because he treated them like people, made them feel safe. That is not enough to be a good teacher or a guardian though. Logan wasn’t sure what qualities made a good guardian or parent, but he was sure he didn’t have them, especially after what Weapon X put him through. He pretty sure that he couldn’t give Clint the support and care the kid needed. Feeling every one of his many years, Logan sighed and put out the stub of his cigar. Damn, if he wasn’t going to try though, and the Wolverine was not a man who gave up.  
The shower was turning off just as Logan came back inside. Logan sat at the little table and waited for the young Hawkeye to make an appearance. It took longer than expected. Apparently the kid had forgotten dry clothes in his rush so he came out wrapped in three fluffy towels that pretty much made him look like a walking marshmallow. One was over his head, one draped over his shoulders, and one wrapped around his waist pretty much covered the boy. Clint was skittish though so Logan stayed quiet, projecting calm as hard as he could. He felt like he was stalking a deer, trying to get close enough to pet it without scaring it off.   
Clint dug into his bag and pulled out pants and underwear but all of his shirts were damp. “Aw, shirts, no,” he said softly, rummaging through with increasing frantic motions.  
“Take one of mine,” Logan said softly.   
Clint jumped, looking sheepish but went to the bag Logan pointed at. “Aw, flannel,” he whined but took a shirt and his pants back into the bathroom to change.  
When he came back out, he looked only a little funny in the oversized flannel shirt. Without speaking, Logan helped him hang all of the damp clothes up to dry. It didn’t take long and a quick peek out the window revealed it was still raining.   
“We should talk, kid,” Logan said as Clint stared at the rain in disgust. When the kid made a face at the idea, the mutant laughed. “I know, but I think we should clear the air.”  
Clint took a seat, cross-legged on his bed and Logan reclined on his, both of them suddenly nervous. Clint spoke first. “I’m sorry I yelled,” he said softly, barely over a whisper.  
“Don’t fret, I’ve had plenty of people yell at me,” Logan said, smirking at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Clint watching him closely. “Must be my winning personality, ‘cause I get that a lot.” He looked over and caught Clint’s gaze. “I’m sorry I got upset too. I’m not sure what I said, but if I hurt you, I’m sorry for that too.”  
Clint shook his head. “I overreacted; it’s not your fault.”  
“It ain’t yours either,” Logan assured him. “I only want you to be able to speak your mind to me, Clint. I’m not a complicated man. I will always prefer the truth, even if I don’t like it.”  
Clint shrugged but didn’t argue. He didn’t look like he believed it either, but Logan would just have to work on that.   
“I know it’s hard to believe,” the older man admitted. “I have trouble trusting people too. So I’m going to be completely honest with you and you can work on being honest with me. Sound fair?”  
The boy looked skeptical but said, “If you keep your end, I’ll try.”  
“Fair enough,” Logan agreed. He peeked out the window again, hoping for the rain to have let up enough for them to go to dinner. No such luck. “I guess we can start now.” Logan took a seat on one bed and scrutinized his partner. “I’m going to call my contact in SHIELD. You can stay and listen to at least my side of the conversation.”  
“You sure?” Clint asked suspiciously.  
Logan raised an eyebrow but instead of arguing he picked up the phone and dialed. After several rings, a deep voiced answered.  
“This better be important,” Nick Fury snarled over the line. “I don’t have time to waste on chit-chat.”  
“I’d never do that to you, Nick,” Logan replied coolly. He waved Clint over so the boy could listen better.  
Clint climbed up behind Logan, leaning as close as he could without touching the mutant. Logan nodded at him as Nick complained.  
“Logan, why are you calling me? I thought you were all wrapped in that school in Westchester with no time to waste with my ‘petty errands’, I think you called them,” the director said.  
Logan shook his head. “I know you knew where I was, because your rookies thought I was your errand boy,” he scolded.  
That got Fury’s attention. “Explain,” he ordered sharply.  
“Not over the phone,” Logan argued. “I want to talk face to face.”  
The line was silent for a minute while Fury thought that over. It was a common tactic of his to make people squirm and give up more than they intended. It usually worked to, as evidenced by Clint’s squirming. Logan was going to have to work on the blonde’s patience if Nick’s silence bothered him so much. Finally, Nick answered, “What part of the country are you in?”  
Logan kept it vague, just in case. “Colorado.”  
“I have some errands to run in that area,” Fury said thoughtfully. “What are you thinking?”  
Logan considered his answer carefully. Then he had an idea. He pulled out a pamphlet he had stuffed in his pocket. It advertised a renaissance festival with pictures of men and women in period dress on the front and a list of attractions on the back. It caught the mutant’s attention because of a photo of three men with long bows and he kept it because a contest on the back that he thought would interest the kid. “We’ll be in Larkspur on Saturday. Think you can fit me in?”  
There was the sound of typing as Nick looked up the small town, then swearing. “Hell, no,” the man snapped.   
“That’s where we’ll be,” Logan deadpanned, winking at the kid who was staring at the slip of bright paper like a winning lottery ticket. “I’ll be near the archery sign-up.”  
“You bastard, there is no way I’m going to a…”   
“In the meantime,” Logan interrupted, keeping his amusement out of his voice, “I recommend you look into why your agency is so interested in Carson’s Circus.”  
“If you’re pulling my leg,” Fury threatened. Behind him, Logan heard Clint swallow nervously.   
Suddenly tired of this game, the old feral sobered up. “I’m dead serious, Nick. Something stinks in your organization and I’m giving you a heads up.”  
“Fine,” Fury said and hung up abruptly.   
Logan turned to the kid who was staring at the phone with wide eyes. “He’ll be there and we’ll fix this,” he said and ruffled the kid’s blond hair. It stood up straight from static, leaving the boy with an angelic halo.   
Clint mumbled something too low and garbled for even Logan to pick up. The boy’s cheeks were turning bright red with embarrassment, though Logan couldn’t guess what sparked that reaction.  
“Say that again?” Logan prodded gently. “Remember what we just talked about.”   
Clint heaved a sigh strong enough to lift his whole body. “I know we’re supposed to lay low, but…” he trailed off.  
Logan knew exactly what the teenager wanted but he wanted the kid to admit it out loud. “But…” he prompted.  
Clint glared at his protector but let it all out in a rush. “I know we’re supposed to lay low and not draw attention, because people are looking for me but since we’re meeting your friend anyway and we’ll be there for a while and since I don’t have that much money and no way to make more, maybe I could possibly enter the archery competition?”  
Logan chuckled but when Clint’s face fell, he was quick to explain. “Of course you can enter,” he explained. “That’s why I choose the festival for the meet, kiddo. I figured you’d be itching to show your stuff.”  
Clint couldn’t hide his grin, but he narrowed his eyes in what he probably though was a menacing expression. “That doesn’t seem like a good way to keep our cover.”  
The older man shrugged. “Who cares? It’s not like they’ll come after you in the middle of the festival with me watching ya.” He grinned and bumped the archer’s shoulder. “Thought you’d like a bit of fun. I’ll even buy you a turkey leg.”  
Logan wasn’t sure if it was the offer of food that tipped the scales but Clint positively beamed at the idea. It was pretty endearing actually and Logan felt himself returning the smile wholeheartedly.

>>>=========>  
When the rain finally let up, they rode down to the restaurant Logan mentioned for dinner. It was a friendly feeling place, full of the diner’s namesake with a healthy scattering of tourists. Luckily they didn’t have to wait for a table and quickly ordered off the limited menu before the waitress left them with their drinks.  
“Nice place,” Clint said politely, looking around at the framed pictures and newspaper clippings. Some of them were pretty old, dating back to the founding of the little town that Clint couldn’t remember the name off.   
“It’ll do,” Logan agreed, though he was glaring at his ice tea. “They’ve changed it since the last time I was through here. Made it more tourist-friendly.”   
They chatted amiably until their food arrived. It was hard to hear over the din, but Clint was a pretty good lip reader so they managed. It was nice to talk about nothing of importance. The conversation drifted from their ride to funny stories of past road trips to Clint’s funny stories of the circus. By the time their burgers arrived, Clint had the old man chuckling into his ice tea over the time Buck got stuck in the monkey cage and how Betsy the chimp wouldn’t let him leave without stealing everything in his pockets including the lint. He didn’t mention how Betsy died from food poisoning at the next stop, though. After the food arrived, however, conversation was abandoned in favor of eating. The food was delicious and Clint was positively enamored with the sweet potato fries. His enthusiasm was so great, that Logan ordered some to go so Clint could have a snack later. The teenager rolled his eyes at Logan’s comment about putting some meat on his bones, but he accepted the fries with grace.   
Things were still lighthearted after they returned to their room. Logan pulled out a battered paperback to read for a while and Clint took out his bow to check and oil it. He wanted to make sure all of his equipment was in top shape for the competition on Saturday. He was really excited to see the other archers shoot. He knew he was the best but the only other archer he knew was Trickshot and he wondered how they compared. He was almost giddy with the possibilities.  
After a while though, Logan put down his book and Clint could feel the mood shift. He hid his nerves by double and triple checking the fletching on his arrows. They were the cheapest money could buy and if Clint didn’t keep an eye on them, they’d fall apart and mess up his shot. He’d refletched a couple already and reattached the tips to most of them. He was fiddling with an arrow with a loose tip when Logan cleared his throat.  
“Have you given any more thought of what you’d like to do?” the man asked, carefully not meeting Clint’s eyes which he was grateful for.  
“Kind of?” Clint temporized. “I mean, I’ve thought about it but I haven’t thought of anything new, ya know?” Logan nodded, apparently waiting for Clint to continue. Clint took a deep breath to center himself, reminding himself to be honest, no matter what the price. It wasn’t that hard really, but the cost still worried him. There was always a cost. “I think staying with you would be the coolest option. I mean, you have been really nice to me so far and you’ve already taught me a bunch of different things. Buck and Jacques, they taught me a lot to but they were kind of focused on one thing, so I only learned one thing from them and after getting to know you, I think you could teach me a lot of things and that’d be really cool,” he tried to explain. Out of the corner of his eye, the blond could see the mountain man (the guy seemed most at home in the woods and blended right in with the loggers at the restaurant) nod again. Now came the hard part, Clint thought. “That’d be my favorite option, but I understand if that won’t really work. I’m sure you don’t want a kid hanging off you, slowing you down. I know I’m holding you back, I’m not dumb.” He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “So, I was honest about what I wanted, like you said, but if it won’t work out; I’ve decided I’m okay with that. I’ll make the most of whatever happens, I’m good at that.”  
On the other bed, Logan crossed his arms and leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a thinking face. Clint went back to counting the fletching on his arrows, not that he remembered the numbers but it was something to do with his hands.   
“First, I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed having you around,” Logan said, breaking the silence that had descended. “You’re a snot nosed punk and a smart mouth, but I like that. Sure, it’d be easier on my own, but I’ve never been one for easy.” He held up a hand when Clint opened his mouth to interrupt. “And this thing with SHIELD, my bet is it’ll be dealt with after I talk to Nick, and if it ain’t, well, I’m not one to run from a fight either. You’re not keeping me from something, ‘cause I didn’t have any plans to begin with.”  
“Why do I hear a huge ‘but’ comin’?” Clint pointed out sullenly.  
“’Cause I’m not sure you’ll want to hang around after I finish being honest with you,” Logan told the ceiling. Clint didn’t like his tone; it made the guy sound so old and tired. “I told you at the beginning I had my own problems, but that is really a gross understatement. For starters I don’t remember much from before about ten years ago.”  
Clint tilted his head. “Why?”  
“I was in a government program called Weapon X for a long time, but I have no idea how long. They experimented on all of us and messed with my head. Some of my memories are false and others, well, they don’t always make sense.” Logan ran a hand through his hair, making the points more prominent. It sounded like he was reciting a speech that me memorized and Clint wondered how long the man had been planning this talk. “After that I was in a Canadian special forces team, and I stayed with them until things got complicated. Lately, I’ve been fightin’ with a new team out of New England, but we’re not exactly government sanctioned either.”  
“What does all that mean?” Clint asked, trying to get his mind around it all. It sounded like Logan had already led a long and exciting life, not to mention dangerous. Honestly, he sounded like a badass.  
“It means, bub, that I’ve got people gunning for me from at least two supposedly friendly governments. That’s in addition to personal enemies, some of which I don’t remember until they show their slimy faces. And I might have pissed off most of the global terrorists groups at one point or another. They’d all like a shot at me, but they won’t take it till they have a clear shot ‘cause if they miss, they know I’ll come after them.”  
“Man, you just sound cooler all the time,” Clint said with youthful exuberance. He had put down his bow and gave Logan his full attention. “Can you teach me to fight? I bet you know all kinds of cool moves.”  
Logan huffed in amusement. “Sure, kiddo, but I got one more secret. First, I gotta ask: what do you know about mutants?”  
“The people with abilities that they talk about in the news?” Clint asked. He had a feeling he knew where this was heading, but he’d wait till Logan confirmed it. “I don’t know. The papers all say that they’re dangerous, but I’ve heard people say that about circus folk.” Clint shrugged. He remembered reading about a man who could cause earthquakes and a woman who could control the weather. At the time, all he could think of was that he wished he had a power; then no one would mess with him. He had stolen a newspaper and was hiding under one of the trailers until Buck cooled off after an incident, so he had been feeling particularly helpless. He smiled at his unlikely protector. “We had a contortionist from Germany stay with us for a while. She was really nice and told me stories about a blue devil with the heart of an angel. He was the one who got her out of the country when her ex was hunting her.”  
Something about that made Logan laugh to himself, but he sobered up quickly and didn’t explain his reaction. “Well, not everyone is so understanding. It’s going to be a problem wherever I go.” He took a deep breath and finally turned to look Clint in the eye. “Do you think you can handle that kind of prejudice? Even if you’re completely normal, you’ll be labeled if you’re with me.”  
Clint rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Seriously, Logan?” he asked, incredulous. “You found me in the circus being roughed up by my teachers! You think you being a mutant will scare me off? Fat chance, bub. Just try getting rid of me now. Everything you’ve told me makes me want to stay. It sounds like you could use someone to watch your back. Guess what: I’ve got excellent eyesight.” He reached across the little aisle between the beds to poke the old man in the shoulder. “I don’t scare easily.”  
“I didn’t think ya did,” the Canadian acknowledged wryly. “Just thought you deserved to know what you’d be getting into.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s a little,” the archer pinched together his fingers in demonstration, “concerning to add more shadow agencies after me and I have a lot to learn so I won’t get us killed; but I’m game. I’m not real book smart but I’m a quick learner. I won’t let you regret this,” he grinned. Then a chill settled over the blond when Logan only stared at him. The old soldier narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and it made Clint’s dinner sit heavy in his stomach. He tried to back track, “I mean, only if you still want me to stick around, I don’t want you to feel you have to keep me or anything.”  
Logan growled deep in his chest, making the hairs on Clint’s arm stand up. “I told you, bub, that I like having you around. Don’t insult both of us by trying to back out of this,” he paused to find the right word, “partnership we’ve got here. Despite a rough start, I think we’ve got a good thing here.”  
Clint perked up, his hopes rising. “You mean it?”  
“I said I don’t lie,” Logan huffed. “Yeah, I mean it.”  
Clint couldn’t stop the cheer that forced itself out of his mouth if he tried, which he didn’t. “Whoopee!”  
“Hey, none of that, short stuff,” Logan scolded, but he was grinning to so Clint ignored him.   
It was liberating, Clint thought, having someone like Logan in his corner. The geezer was tough, with a history that Clint was kind of excited to hear about. What kind of fights had the mutant been in? That led him to another question. “What’s your power?”  
“I got a healing factor that lets me bounce back from pretty much anything and enhanced senses. Those are the gifts I got naturally.” He grinned at the teenager, baring his teeth, and held up a hand. With a shnick sound; three long, sharp, metal claws slipped out between his knuckles. “These, the program I told you about gave to me. My whole skeleton is coated in this metal, making it unbreakable.” He retracted the claws and the thin slits in his skin instantly healed.  
Clint’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Damn,” he breathed. He hopped off his bed to come sit next to the other man and poke at his knuckles. “I don’t even know what to say. That’s pretty cool, freaky as all get out, but really cool.”  
“Thanks, bub,” Logan mumbled with just a hint of amusement as he waved off Clint’s questing fingers, making him retreat back to his own bed.  
After that revelation, silence descended in the little hotel room, but this time it was cozy like a soft blanket. Clint relaxed into it, listening to the old radiator kick on and rattle as it tried to warm the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this, and it took a minute to recognize the feeling: safe. It was… nice, addicting, really. He knew, from past experience, not to get too comfortable. After all it had only been a couple days, Logan could still change his mind, but Clint didn’t think so. The mutant seemed the type who didn’t change his mind easily; so maybe it would be okay. It was surprising to learn the man was a mutant. Sure he was hairy and his hairdo was unusual to say the least, but he still looked like a normal man. The teen wished he had a mutation like that. He knew his eyesight was abnormally good, but healing or unbreakable bones would have been nice. Then he wouldn’t have all the scars he did, more than a fourteen year old should have. Maybe, just maybe, this time, with this weird old mutant, things would be different. Clint sighed and crawled under the blankets when Logan finally turned off the light. He would pray as hard as he could, but in the end, he wouldn’t hold his breath.


	5. Chapter 5- Kings, Queens, Knights, Archers and Pirates… Wait, what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm am super excited about the next few chapters. Now is Clint's chance to shine! I'm not saying another word more, because I don't want to spoil any of the fun. Enjoy!

>>>============>

The two days before the meet with Logan’s friend passed faster than Clint had expected. Looking back, it was all kind of a whirl of shopping, hiking, and practicing. Clint wasn’t complaining, far from it, but he just felt a little off center. Apparently, once Logan decided on something, he was committed and he took responsibility very seriously. He dragged his young compatriot from store to store, buying clothes and shoes; boots, which was apparently different than regular shoes; a better, water proof bag; new arrows and a nice foam target; and, finally, and most embarrassingly, a full set of toiletries. It was worse than buying underwear because Logan had to sniff every bottle and soap Clint picked, to make sure he could stand it. Apparently, enhanced senses are more of a pain than they seem. Then there was the hiking, in the new boots that actually fit even if they were clearance, so Clint could practice in private. Logan dragged him all over the mountain, finding little pockets of peace that Clint couldn’t believe even existed in real life. Clint was born in Iowa. The mountains and trees took his breath away. When he said as much, Logan just laughed and promised to take Clint up North to his old stomping grounds but wouldn’t explain further. Only when they were far beyond any sign of man, would Logan let Clint take out his bow.  
It never took long for Clint to lose himself in the rhythm of draw and fire, and he appreciated having an attentive audience. He was trained in the circus. Logan never said much, just letting Clint set his own training routine but the archer could feel the man’s regard. So he had showed off a little. First he went for distance, until he hit the little foam target from the very edge of his bow’s cast, or range. Then, when that only got a raised eyebrow, he started hitting smaller and smaller targets. The best trick was impaling several leaves on one arrow. Logan had whistled in appreciation at that one. Clint was having so much fun that the days sped past and before he knew it, Saturday arrived. 

Now that it was time to bring his skill to the table, Clint was surprisingly nervous. He shrugged it off as best he could and hid what he couldn’t dismiss with his appreciation of the festival. He knew Logan could smell it on him, but the stoic man never said a word. Clint wanted to make him proud with a vigor that surprised him. He never felt this way with Swordsman or Trickshot. With them, he worried and fretted about being perfect because he didn’t want to be punished, or worse, abandoned. That probably wasn’t an issue with Logan, but Clint still wanted do him proud. It was a distinctly odd feeling.  
A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to the present. They were standing at the front gates, waiting to enter the festival and already the atmosphere was, well, festive. “Check out the jester,” Logan murmured in Clint’s ear. “I think he’s going to fall off the tower.”  
Clint glanced up at the gathering above the gate to the fair. There were six people all dressed up as ladies and lords, calling down to the crowd with lots of “thee’s” and “thou’s” thrown in to sound medieval. On one side was a jester hanging by one leg and an arm as he sprayed the milling crowd with water. He did look pretty precarious. When the jester dumped the last of his spray bottle on a man and women who were making out, Clint had to laugh.  
“I think he’s got the hang of it,” Clint deadpanned.  
Logan huffed in amusement and followed the crowd through the gates as the “King” declared the fair open. Inside it looked like a stylized medieval village crossed with a strip mall. A man dressed as a dirty beggar cat-called at everyone while girls in belly dancer outfits danced with bubble hoops. There was so much going on that Clint felt like he was back in the circus. Though, in the circus the customers didn’t dress as performers, he thought as a man in clunky armor walked by, reading one of the maps they were handing out. A woman dressed as a fairy stopped by Clint and Logan and held out a shiny glass marble with an inquisitive tilt of her head. Clint accepted it with a shy smile and a blush that made his ears burn. The fairy laughed silently and did a little dance that sprinkled glitter on Clint before skipping off to give another marble to a little girl.  
“I’d keep that,” Logan offered with a straight face. “Maybe it’ll bring you good luck.”  
Clint stuck his tongue out but tucked the marble in his pocket for safe keeping. They set off toward the edge of the fair, where the archery range was set up. Clint felt like his head was on a swivel as he tried to take everything in. Many people were dressed up, most as lords and ladies, but there were knights and woodsmen with Robin Hood hats too. Some of the women were dressed as woodland fairies or belly dancers, showing enough skin to make Clint blush and avert his eyes, though Logan seemed appreciative. One of the belly dancers winked at the mutant and blew him a kiss when he winked back. Surprisingly, there were a number of pirates intermingled with the renaissance crowd.  
“Were there pirates in the Dark Ages?” Clint asked as he watched a man with an eyepatch and tri-corner hat with a huge feather sweep out a leg to bow to a lady in a voluminous dress.  
“Not that I know of, short stack,” Logan said, eyeing the couple. “I don’t think there were ever pirates like that. I blame Hollywood.”  
As much as Clint wanted to investigate all the shops, which seemed to sell everything under the sun, it was important for him to sign up early for the archery competition so they pressed forward. By the time they reached their destination, there was already a line for the sign-up table.  
It took nearly 15 minutes before they reached the sign up table, which was manned by a skinny old man with long white hair and a squeaky voice. “Does thou wishist to enter this tournament of champions?” he asked, laying on it a little thick.  
“Um, sure,” Clint responded.  
“Are thou 18?”  
Clint glanced at Logan. “No,” he admitted.  
“Then with a guardian’s permission, thee may enter the Junior Tournament. The top three of the Juniors will have a chance to compete in the adult contest. Then the top three champions will be perform in the Grand Tournament before the King and Queen. Does thou agree to these terms?” the man squeaked.  
“Sure do,” Clint agreed, easily. Now that he was here, he was focused on his target.  
“Then, sign here,” the man said, his voice deepening as he got down to business. “This is a liability waver, this says you agree to the rules of the competition, and fill out your name and information on this page. Both of you will have to sign each page. Take this clip board over there and bring it back when you’re done. Keep the list of rules and review it before signing the pink page. Next!”  
Clint took the papers and hurried out of the way as he heard the man intone, his voice again squeaky, “Does thou wishest to enter this tournament of champions?”  
“They certainly go all out, don’t they?” Logan laughed as he scanned the documents. They had already agreed on their fake names and Clint had practiced his signature several times last night. He wasn’t excited to use his middle name, but he was guaranteed to react to it. Logan picked the last name and seemed wildly amused by it, but refused to share the joke. Clint did not whine or mope about that at all, nope. “I was right, says here they provide the bow and arrows, to keep things equal. Juniors are at 10:30, so you have almost an hour to get your bow and look around. There are two more sets afterward at 11:30 and 1:30, then the final demonstration before the King at 4 at the jousting ring. Sounds like you’ll be busy today.”  
“I’ll be fine,” Clint waved off his concern. “This will be a cinch, even with an unfamiliar bow. I only hope they have one with a good draw that will fit me.”  
Luckily, because they were so early, Clint had his pick of the smaller bows. He was impressed with the quality available, really. His bow from the circus was an old hand-me down that he had to compensate for depending on the weather. These, though well used, were all sleek and polished. They were also all natural, of either wood or bamboo, no plastic and no compound bows. Clint hid a smile when one of the older contestants complained that he only used a compound bow for hunting, so how was he supposed to pull such heavy bows.  
Clint fell in love with a shiny recurve with a purple finish and a draw strength that was just on the upper edge of his limit. It felt beautiful in his hand and he couldn’t wait to use it. He carried it reverently to the table to sign it out.  
“You sure you want that one, young man?” the charming old gentleman who was manning the equipment booth asked. He wore a prospector’s hat with a peacock feather and worn leather pants with a fringed leather vest. When he wasn’t helping the contestants, he knapped arrowheads and flint flakes surrounded his moccasin bound feet. “She’s real pretty, but most boys your age can’t draw her.”  
Clint beamed as he ran a hand over the bow. “She’s stronger than I usually work with, but I think I can manage her. She’s a real lady.”  
The man laughed, showing strong white teeth. “You know, son, I made most of these bows. I rent them to the festival and sell them on the side, so I know each one here. That one is special. I call her the princess from the royal purple finish and because she takes a strong but delicate hand to master. I made her several years ago and she’s only been used a handful of times. Tell you what, I like that gleam in your eye, boy. If she performs well for you, then I’ll sell her to you at a steep discount, but only if you do well in the completion.”  
Clint laughed, his whole body vibrating with a bright energy that made him want to dance and sing. “Old man, if I can use your princess, I will win this whole thing.”  
The bow maker laughed. “You do that, and I’ll give her to you. She’s a special favorite and I’d like to see her go home with someone who’ll give her the respect she deserves.”  
“Yes, sir!” Clint saluted. The old man waved him off and Clint hurried to where Logan was waiting for him, clutching the beautiful bow.  
“Just your color,” Logan commented with a gleam in his eye. Clint did a happy shuffle as he grinned up at his friend. “We’ve got an hour to kill. Want to look around a touch?”  
“Of course,” Clint replied, bouncing with enthusiasm. “Let’s go!”  
Logan indulgently allowed himself to be pulled by the hyper teenager as they started to explore the enclosed shops. Clint wasn’t real interested in the sundials, but the bright wind chimes made him smile. After that was a shop that sold chainmail jewelry, followed by a candle maker. The chandler was in the middle of a demonstration that Clint watched with wide eyes for several minutes while the woman took a block of soft wax and slowly, slice by slice, turned it into a work of art, until she had a fairy castle in blue and white. The next shop sold hats and Clint joking grabbed a big floppy one with feathers to stick on Logan’s head.  
“Isn’t that better than an old cowboy hat?” the boy teased.  
Logan rolled his eyes and snagged a jester’s hat, complete with tinkling bells to stick on Clint’s blond head. “I think it suits you,” he returned in good humor.  
“Aw, bells, no,” Clint whined as the bells bounced around his head.  
They played around for another minute, trying on different hats before Clint moved on to the next booth, which was selling jewelry. Their specialty was puzzle rings, which distracted Clint enough that he didn’t notice that Logan wasn’t right behind him. By the time the pretty sales girl showed Clint the trick to the ring, Logan had finally caught up.  
“Here you go, short stuff,” the man said, plopping a purple and blue Robin Hood hat on his head. “Now you look like an archer.”  
Clint stared at Logan for a minute. He reached up to touch the hat, the leather was butter soft. He could feel his cheeks warm uncomfortably. “You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered.  
“I know, just thought it suited you. Besides, it will make you blend in with this crowd,” Logan pointed out, not bothering to hide his shit-eating grin.  
Clint looked out over the crowd of fair goes and sure enough, just from here he could see six people with the same hat and one of them was even purple. “Fine,” he grouched. He rubbed his chest that was suddenly tight. “But I’ll pay you back.”  
“No you won’t,” Logan said, waving a finger under the young archer’s nose. “It’s a gift, bub, so don’t even think of it.”  
The tension between them built until the sales girl giggled. “Oh, you’re both so cute,” she twittered. “And that hat looks real dashing on you, sir.”  
Clint felt like his cheeks were on fire as Logan steered him out of the stall and back to the archery range. It was time for the first round of the junior competition.

As Clint stood with the other young archers, about twenty in all, his ears were ringing with Logan’s advice.  
“Don’t be a showoff, not yet,” the mutant had whispered. “I know you can win this with your eyes closed and a bent arrow, but hold back for now. Win, but by a thin margin, got me?”  
Clint had nodded before hurrying off to get in line. He understood completely, though it rankled. He was a showman, for goodness sakes. He decided to think of it as training in subtlety and precision. They were lined up before four targets which were set up in an open field cleared out for just this occasion. The rest of the time it was used for pony tricks and other strenuous games like hammer throwing. The guy with the squeaky voice announced the rules in full renaissance style.  
“Thou willst not point thou bow anywhere but down ye range. Thou willst not interfere with another champion’s shot. Thou willst not…” he droned on. Clint looked over at the girl next to him and when she met his eyes, he rolled them in an exaggerated fashion. She giggled behind her hand and pointed discretely at a young boy, about ten, in another line who was imitating the official with exaggerated arm movements. Clint and the girl, a red head with really cute freckles who was probably about 16, shared a quiet laugh as the man finally wrapped up his recitation. “Thee willst have three practice arrows then thee shall demonstrate thou skill with one full quiver of a dozen arrows. The archers with the most points shall move to the next round at a greater distance. This will determine our champions. The top three archers win the right to challenge the adults in the Grand Championship. Good luck to you all!”  
Clint watched the other archers with interest as the first group stepped up for their practice shots. The ages ranged from the ten year old boy, who was fittingly dressed up as a jester, to a strapping young man of at least 17. He was dressed up in full regalia with fancy boots and tooled green leather pants. He also had a hunter’s cap like Clint’s. Clint took an instant dislike to the older boy because of his aura of superiority. He scoffed when a little girl dressed like a princess barely hit the target and out right laughed at an older boy who missed the target entirely.  
When the bully stepped forward he sighed heavily. “This bow is so inferior compared to what I’m used to. I hope it doesn’t ruin my aim.” Clint clenched his teeth as he watched the boy show off, hitting in the black all three times. “Oh, well,” the jerk huffed dramatically, “it will do, but with my equipment, I’d have hit the bullseye.”  
Clint wished he could say something, but it was his turn and the prospect of using Princess outweighed his annoyance. His focus narrowed to his bow, the arrow and the target. Nothing else mattered. His first shot was a little high. He compensated for the heavier weight, which made the arrow fly straighter than he expected. His second and third shots hit exactly where he aimed, the very edge of the inner circle, one right on top of the other. Princess was like a song in his hands and he practically floated to the end of the line, he was so giddy.  
The rest of the practice shots went quickly and soon they were shooting for real. Clint pulled himself out of his happy head space to pay attention. It was obvious that most of the younger kids were just having fun. The little princess squealed and waved frantically at her proud parents when one of her arrows hit dead center. The jester boy at least hit the target every time and seemed happy enough with his efforts. A dark haired girl in jeans and a “Pirate Wench” t-shirt only hit about half the time, the rest of her arrows hitting the dirt around her target. The pretty red-head was really good. She hit almost all of her arrows in the middle two rings, but Clint was a little distracted by how cute she was in her long blue skirt and cut off shirt that was bunched to show her midriff. She winked at him when she finished.  
Clint’s good mood was spoiled by the jerk though. The flop had strutted up, loudly declaring that this was all too easy and shouldn’t they just award him the prize already. He shot lazily, but he had impressive bunching around the center, putting him ahead in points. Then the jerk had the gall to shoot finger guns at the red-head. “That was for you, babe,” he sneered before reluctantly getting back in line.  
Clint was steaming as he stepped forward and took the quiver the helpers handed him. He settled it on his hip, intending to show up the bastard when he happened to glance at the crowd. His eyes were instantly drawn to Logan’s red flannel. The older man slowly shook his head and waved a hand carefully, indicating that Clint needed to cool down. Right, he was supposed to not show off this early in the game. With a deep breath, Clint brought his bow up and nocked his first arrow. It flew straight, hitting the edge of the center circle. With careful, deliberate movements, Clint grouped his whole quiver inside the center, but just enough to the right that none of them hit dead center. It gave him the most points possible, but looked less impressive than the bully’s display.  
He waved off his line mates congratulations with a smile and returned to the end of the line while the judges tallied up the points.  
“Good job,” the red-head whispered. “I’m Wendy.”  
“Um, Francis,” Clint replied shyly, barely remembering to give his fake name. “You did great too.”  
Wendy giggled. “Thanks.”  
The squeaky voiced officiant, who had somehow found a tall wizards hat since the last time he stood up, called out, “Those, whose names I call out, please step forward. If I do not call you, we thank you for your courage to compete and we honor you with these gold plated arrows for your participation.” He waved a hand at a jester in blue and orange beside him who was carrying a pillow piled with gold spray painted arrows. “Ah hem, in tenth place in the first round of ye championship Bobby Wilson. In ninth place…” he called out each name. Wendy was fourth, a cheerful Asian boy named Harry got third. “In second place, Thomas Wilcox. And finally, in first place, Frances Summers. Now all participants move to the side while we move yon targets another 15 yards out. Thank you.” He stepped down and abandoned his helper to the rush of the kids out for a golden arrow.  
Clint made his way over to Logan. The Canadian was short enough that it was kind of hard to find him, but when he did, Logan was grinning. “Good job keeping your temper with that blow hard,” Logan praised.  
Clint shrugged. “I beat him anyway. The next round will be harder because at that distance we’ll have to compensate for the wind.”  
“You’ll do great,” Logan encouraged, before looking up to scan the crowd. “My friend should be here soon. If I’m not here when you finish, get yourself something to eat before your next round.” He shoved $40 in Clint’s hand. “If something happens, meet me back at the bike.”  
Clint stilled at the other’s serious tone. He glanced around nervously but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, except a guy dressed as a dragon. “Why? Do you think something is going to happen?” he asked nervously.  
Logan chuckled and squashed Clint’s hat against his head. “Nah, just being prepared. I didn’t get this old by being careless. Just watch yourself, Hawkeye.”  
Clint laughed and shrugged of the hand. “You too, old man.”  
“Careful, brat, I can still run the feet off ya,” Logan teased. “Get back there. They’re lining up.”  
Clint snickered as he hurried back to the others. He nearly ran into a tall black man, who looked a little ridiculous with his black leather trench coat and eye patch in the hot summer heat. Despite that though, Clint was instantly wary as he dodged around the man with a mumbled, “Sorry, sir.” There was something dangerous about the guy and Clint wasn’t going to stick around to find out more and he hoped that the pirate wasn’t the “something” Logan had been worried about.  
All thoughts of the scary pirate flew right out of his head as he quietly slipped behind Wendy just as the wizard with the squeaky voice (he now had a staff with a crystal ball on top and had let his long white hair flow over his shoulders) called for the next round. “The contestants will have two quivers of 12 arrows each with which to display their skill. Take heed that your targets are much further down field, so be careful of a stray breeze or magically conjured wind that seeks to throw off our champion’s aim. Good luck to each of you.”  
This time, they had been paired up before their targets and Clint was quick to slide in behind Wendy, just barely beating the jerk who was stuck with a 15-year old brown hair boy proudly sporting a dragon t-shirt with small stuffed wings sewn on the back. Clint winked at Wendy who giggled before she stepped up to shoot her first round. As the wizard had warned, and Clint figured, this was a lot harder and while she hit the target every time, she didn’t get any arrows in the center ring. She cursed under her breath as Clint stepped up.  
“I’m surprised you can hit the broad side of a barn with that sloppy form,” the ass-hat tossed out as he stepped up next to Clint. “I’ve been training since I was 6. You look like you just picked up a bow today.”  
Clint grit his teeth until his jaw hurt then forced himself to relax. The kid, for all that he was obviously older than Clint the guy was still just a brat; the kid wasn’t that original. Clint had heard worse from his own mentors, let alone hecklers from the audience at the circus. The best retort would just to shoot better than the jerk so that’s what Clint did. He took a breath and sighted down the shaft of the arrow, letting all distractions fall away. He watched a flag on the fence bordering the field flap lazily and adjusted for the breeze. He aimed up slightly and released, feeling the fletching rush past his cheek. He watched the arc of the arrow. It was perfect. Princess was a dream and the arrow flew straight and hit an inch off center, just like he planned. After that it felt like a dance as he nocked, drew, and released until he was actually surprised that his quiver was empty.  
“That was beautiful, Francis,” Wendy gushed, her hair floating on the breeze like a fiery halo. Her whole face lit up as she beamed. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that, it was, like, so Zen.”  
Clint rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his shoes. “Um, thanks. I just get in zone, you know.”  
“Whatever it was, you blew that douche out of the water,” she whispered. Clint finally looked down the range to Thomas’s target. He had a couple good shots, and hit the target every time, but his grouping was shit.  
“Huh, looks like he can’t shoot in the wind,” Clint murmured.  
“It gives me fits too,” Wendy said as she stepped forward. They had to wait for the helpers to clear the targets, so they had a minute.  
Clint looked over at her, noticing the crease between her eyebrows that showed how worried she was. He swallowed nervously, pulling on his lessons from Trickshot. “Wendy,” he said carefully, ready to back down if it looked like she didn’t want his help. “If you watch the flag, it shows how much you need to adjust for the wind. And remember to put an arc on your shot. It'll be cleaner than trying to shot straight.” She was staring at him and he blushed. “At least that’s what I do. My teacher explained it better. I don’t think I’m using the right terms.”  
Wendy smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the help,” she said sincerely. She saluted him as she picked up her bow and got ready to shoot again. She did a lot better this time and got several arrows in the middle, though one got caught in a freak gust and fell short.  
Thomas’s partner was quick so the jerk was already half-way through his second set when Clint stepped up. The breeze picked up enough that it was a real pain but Clint just settled into his zone. By the time he pulled out, he had a beautiful grouping just above the bullseye. It was more than enough to win, even without getting them all in the middle ring. The jerk had had trouble too and Clint noticed he had several arrows in the outermost ring.  
The bastard huffed and turned away without a word, leaving the dragon kid, Wendy, and Clint to snicker behind his back. This was more fun than Clint had had in a long, long time.  
“Gather around, Our Champions,” intoned the wizard, now in a robe with sewn on stars and moons to complete the look. Beside him the jester from before held seven gold painted arrows decorated with plastic gems, while on the other side two of the festivals “Royals” held three ceramic mugs with bows and arrows stamped on the side. They also had the garish arrows stuck in the mugs. The wizard named the runners up who solemnly stepped forward to claim their arrows while their friends and family cheered.  
Clint watched with a grin, enjoying the atmosphere. The kids were so excited, even a 17-year old who got fifth; and the crowd was drinking it up.  
“Finally, our three champions who will compete against the adults to prove that age does not limit skill or honor. If you will please step forward and receive your prize from our Lord and Lady then stand here so we may commemorate this moment with a portrait. Thank you. In third place, Wendy Corduroy,” the wizard announced.  
Clint cheered as loudly as Wendy’s family, a hulking red bearded man in a kilt surrounded by red haired boys of various sizes. She stepped forward and accepted the mug from the Lady and curtsied as best she could. She waved at her family and grinned at Clint as she came to stand beside the wizard.  
“In second place by only six points, Thomas Wilcox,” the old man squeaked. Thomas lifted his nose at the mug but accepted it and a hand shake from the grinning Lord with reasonable composure. “And finally, our first place winner who will receive $50 of the king’s dollars along with a trophy drinking vessel, is Francis Summers. Step forward, good sir and accept your winnings.”  
Clint beamed as he walked up. He followed the lord’s example and bent at the waist before accepting his prize. He even milked it a little by kissing the lady’s hand. She was old enough to be his mother, but she still giggled when he released her fingers. Later, after the obligatory photo session, the wizard explained the next step to the three youths. “Be back here in a half hour, at 11:30 for the preliminaries against the adults. Don’t be late. Here are your numbers, they determine the order. It will be fast paced, but don’t worry about it. All of you are great shots,” he said, squeak suspiciously absent. “All right, enjoy the fair and we’ll see you soon.” He waved and walked off to start setting up for the next contest.  
The young archers split up quickly after that, Wendy to her enthusiastic family and Thomas to a pair of college boys who were probably his brothers. Clint glared at them for a minute before looking for Logan. Surprisingly, the mutant was waiting for him just on the edge of the crowd along the fence.  
“Well?” Clint asked as he hurried up to his guardian. He was feeling just a little cocky, especially with Wendy’s peck on his cheek before she left.  
“Nice job, Hawkeye,” Logan acknowledged. “Think you can keep it up?”  
Clint scoffed. “Duh! I’ll wipe the floor will all comers.”  
“Good enough,” Logan laughed. “Let’s get you a snack. Can’t have you fainting from hunger, right?”  
They walked off, quickly finding a pretzel hawker who had apparently been harassing Logan. The feral snarled his order at the man who beamed as he produced two pretzels and a little sauce packet of mustard. The pair ate their treat as they walked around a little. Surprisingly, it was Logan who got distracted first.  
“Let’s check out that shop,” he said, leading the way to a leather shop.  
“They just sell shoes and stuff,” Clint whined a little as he followed. He would have rather looked in the stall selling elaborate masks.  
“Not just shoes and they’re moccasins, not shoes,” Logan corrected. He quickly waved down a clerk who had them sitting down so she could take measurements with surprising efficiency. “I prefer boots, but when it comes to moving stealthy, you can’t go wrong with moccasins.”  
“Fine,” Clint moped, but when the sales lady, a sweet middle aged woman with black hair and a no-nonsense attitude put the first pair on his feet to try, he was sold. “Whoa,” Clint gasped as he walked around. “It’s like walking barefoot but better.”  
Logan chuckled quietly and paid for a pair of lace up moccasins, with thickened soles and lacings up to the knees, for both of them. His were in dark blue, while Clint’s were obviously purple.  
Clint did a dance step in his new footwear as they went back to the archery range. “Seriously, these are awesome!” he cheered as he skipped around his more sedate companion. Around them, people grinned at his excitement and a man dressed up as an elf, who was wearing similar moccasins gave a thumbs up. “You didn’t have to do that, though,” Clint offered, not sure how to be gracious. He really appreciated the gift but he didn’t want to take advantage of Logan or look greedy.  
“Think of it as congrats for winning the kids show,” Logan shrugged it off. “Besides, I’m planning to submit an expense account to Nick. We’ll see what I can get from him. I could still come out ahead in this.”  
His admittedly small amount of guilt lifted; Clint said a cheerful good bye to his friend as he rejoined the crowd of archers waiting to shoot.  
>>>>=========>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. For those you might have recognized Wendy, yes that is her. She just kind of happened. See the cute red head was named Jess and was a local girl, but her personality as I wrote her just sounded so much like Wendy that I just gave in and embraced it. But this is not a crossover, so just enjoy the easter egg. For those who don't recognize her, don't worry about it. See you next week!


	6. Chapter 6- Same but Diffrent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we continue with Clint's adventure at the Ren fair. I had way too much fun writing this, if you can't tell.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, CraftyLady51, who has worked so hard on this with me. And thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, and bookmarked me. It really makes me feel encouraged because I am stepping out of my comfort zone a little with this story. There is a lot more world building and character development then I have tackled before. Thank you for your support. Enjoy!

>>>>==========>  
Clint joined the bustle of archers milling around in front of the field as the organizers tried to bring order to the chaos. The wizard was back, squeaky voice and all, as he read numbers off a clipboard. Because of the much larger crowd of contestants and the level of skill, things were a little different this time. With the kids, helpers collected arrows and kept score. However, the adults collected their own arrows and reported their score to judges who followed them into the field. There were ten targets instead of five and the targets were very different too. In the spirit of the festival, there were straw men set up with targets over vital points. Highest points were perfect heart, head, or gut shots, which lesser points in concentric rings around those points. Bonus points were awarded if anyone hit all three bullseyes. Clint heard a couple people muttering about things being unorthodox, but he thought it was awesome. They would shoot two sets, or ends, of 12 to determine who would be in the finals. The wizard promised a challenge for those who made it that far.   
Clint took his place behind Wendy and Thomas with a grin that was sadly short lived. “Well, well, well. Is this the amateur you told us about, Tommy?” said a young man that Clint had noticed with Thomas earlier. Beside him, Wendy rolled her eyes.  
“That he is, Tim,” the jerk agreed easily. “Honestly, I’m not sure how he can even aim with a stance like that.”  
“Interesting,” the third brother said. He held out a hand. “Good luck. I’m looking forward to watching you shoot.”  
As he took the man’s hand, Clint forced himself to smile, the kind of smile that made his cheeks hurt if he had to hold it very long. “Thanks, good luck to you too.”   
“Oh, don’t worry about us,” the other man said, not releasing Clint’s hand. He was squeezing a little hard, but not enough to hurt. Clint wasn’t sure if that was what he was going for. “We’ve been doing this for years. In fact, we’ll be trying out for the Olympics next year. So don’t feel bad if you can’t keep up.”  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Clint said, keeping his face bland.   
Finally, after a final squeeze, the guy let go and the three of them moved off a little to talk among themselves.  
“Geeze,” Wendy hissed softly. “What’s with those jerks?”  
“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to mop the floor with them.”   
“Yeah? I’ll be lucky to make the finals. I’m better with an axe,” Wendy said with a shrug dismissing the Wilcoxes as not worth her time.   
“Why an axe?” Clint asked as he double checked his bow. He needn’t bother, Princess was perfect, but he liked the feel of her under his hands.  
“My dad’s a lumberjack and he made all of us practice. We’re only in Colorado for the summer while he does work for the Forest Service. I’m really from Oregon,” She explained with a grin. “Mum’s the word, k? I’m trying to blend in.” She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.  
Clint copied her but it was a little harder with the huge grin on his face. “I’m really from Iowa, we’re just passing through,” he whispered and they giggled at the shared secret. Then they were called up to shoot.   
He had fun with it. He made sure to get the bonus points, but then made it a game to make the rest of his shots seem random yet still have good points. At a judge’s prompting, he ran to get his arrows and count up his points along with all the others in his group. He and Wendy shared a high-five on their way back to the line. Then they had to wait again for the last round, both of them trying to keep away from the dork-butt (Wendy’s name) brothers.  
The second round went faster because everyone knew what to do. Clint played the same game again, this time watching the other archers in his peripheral. The jerks looked like cookie cut outs; they stood so still with the same stance. Clint agreed that it was nothing like his, but then Buck had cared about results not form; not to mention the unorthodox shooting Clint had to do for the act anyway. He’d like to see those jerks try hitting the target while riding a horse or hanging upside down. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing because that would screw up his shot. He planted a last arrow in the target’s groin for the fun of it and waited for the signal to collect his arrows.  
“Your form really is deplorable,” one of brothers said, Clint didn’t see which one. “Have you had any training at all?”  
Clint clenched his free hand, willing himself not to punch the jerk in the face. “Deplorable” is a word they used to say at the group home; he didn’t think normal people really used it. “My teacher was a little unconventional,” he said instead.  
“Well, we can see that,” said the other brother, Tim. “Theo, doesn’t he look like a joke? I mean, honestly the kid’s a mess.”  
The signal came and they all started walking down, but the brothers didn’t quit. “I’ve seen better shooting from a man with one arm,” Thomas helpfully pointed out, grinning at his brothers.  
Clint was getting angry and was just about to snap at them when Wendy spoke up. She had walked faster than all of them and was looking at Clint’s target. “Well, that one armed man must have been a crack shot, since I think Francis has the highest score of any of us,” she threw out cheerfully. “I like your groin shot. Was that on purpose?”  
“Um, yeah,” Clint said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he blushed. “I was just kinda having fun.”  
“Nice,” she said before sauntering off to collect her own arrows.  
After a lame comment about a wasted shot, the brothers shut up, although they glared plenty. Clint was just ready for it to be over.  
After the scores were all turned in and tallied the wizard stood up to announce the rankings. The top 15 archers would advance to the next round. Unfortunately, but not surprising, the three brothers made it. So did Wendy, though she was only 12, which had her groaning. Clint got second, by three points. He’d have to be more careful next round and not mess around. He did score better than any of the brothers; but he was mature about it and didn’t stick his tongue out at them. He let Wendy do it for them. Then they all split until the next round, which was pushed back to 2 o’clock. Clint waved bye to Wendy and went to find Logan.   
It took a minute to find the mutant, though Clint did notice the creepy pirate again. He edged around the man, who seemed to be studying the crowd as it flowed around him, and spotted his guardian by the fence. He was holding two huge roasted turkey legs.   
“Here,” Logan said without preamble as Clint jogged up, his bow slung over his back. “Figured you be hungry again.”  
“Thanks,” Clint said. He groaned with delight as he ate the greasy drumstick. “You know, I think this is the most fun I’ve had in my life!” he expounded between bites.  
“Good for you kid,” Logan laughed. He picked up a bag from between his feet. “Check to see if this fits. If it doesn’t we’ll need to get it resized.”  
“What?” Clint squeaked, peering into the bag carefully, trying not to drip turkey grease inside. With his clean hand he pulled out a purple leather vest with a pale purple linen shirt for underneath. “Aw, Logan, you shouldn’t keep buying me stuff. I already owe you so much.”  
Logan waved him off and took the drumstick back to hold while Clint pulled the shirt on over his t-shirt. It was loose but not too much. The vest was a close fit, made perfect by adjusting the laces in the back. “Thought we’d complete the look,” Logan said approvingly. “Good, now you look like a plum.”  
Clint rolled his eyes and smacked the man’s shoulder before reclaiming his turkey to finish eating. “Never have too much purple,” Clint argued with his mouth full.  
“A responsible adult would tell you not to talk with your mouth full,” Logan pointed out helpfully, his eyes twinkling.  
“Good thing I got you then,” Clint shot back after taking a big bite.  
They kept up the banter as they returned to checking out the stalls they hadn’t seen yet. They both enjoyed the sword-smith booth. Apparently Logan was an experienced swordsman, though he preferred his “natural” weaponry. Clint thought about getting one for himself, since he couldn’t practice was Jacques’ anymore, but decided it was too expensive. Logan promised to look into another option. After a couple more shops and a ride on the elephant, which Clint loved but Logan stayed downwind from, they made their way back to the archery range. Clint really didn’t want to be late and he was bouncing with pent up energy. Then he saw the pirate again. The man’s one eye was staring straight at them and when a woman jostled his coat, Clint swore he saw a weapon bulge.  
Suddenly, the sun, which had seemed pleasant all day, was too warm and Clint could feel sweat break out on the back of his neck. “Um, Logan?”  
Logan hmmed, apparently not paying attention, but Clint knew better. He saw how Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly and scanned the area and how his hands flexed, ready to send out those lethal claws.   
“That guy over there, the one with the eye patch? I’ve seen him a couple times and now he’s staring at us,” Clint said softly, turning his head so the guy couldn’t see him speak. His hands, clenched around his bow started to sweat.   
Logan carefully looked in the direction Clint indicated with a flick of his eyes. Then he barked out a laugh. “Well, let’s go talk to the pirate, shall we? Don’t want to seem rude, ignoring him an’ all,” he suggested mischievously.  
The reaction caught Clint off guard, so he just followed in Logan’s wake as the short man plowed through the crowd. When they were close enough to talk to the stranger, who looked quite annoyed, Logan swept an arm behind Clint to bring him between the two men. For a second, Clint felt terrified, certain that Logan and/or the pirate were going to hurt him but Logan let go immediately, taking a half step back to give enough space so Clint didn’t feel trapped but not too much for him to feel abandoned. Clint could breathe again.  
“Kiddo, meet Nick Fury, director of SHIELD,” Logan said, pitching his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard in the crowd.  
Clint did a double take. “Wait, what?” he asked, confused as all get out. “I thought we were hiding from SHIELD.” He tried really, really hard not to feel betrayed.  
“I said I knew someone who could get them off our backs, and that’s Nick,” Logan explained, straight faced but his tone dripping with amusement.  
“Why are you after me anyway?” Clint demanded, turning on the one-eyed secret agent. At least his look made sense now, sort of. He kind of stood out like a sore thumb, even in the Ren Fest crowd.  
“I didn’t know we were until Logan called,” Nick said, radiating authority. Clint waited for him to continue. The man narrowed his eye menacingly but Clint didn’t back down. “I don’t know why you were targeted, but I have some theories. We’ll be discussing them at length, but I believe you were on your way back to your competition? I look forward to seeing what you can do, Hawkeye.”  
Clint didn’t like how he said that. It sounded as if Clint was auditioning for something, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to show his cards until he knew what the game was. He glanced at Logan, nervously, keeping Nick Fury in the corner of his vision.  
“You go ahead and win, Clint,” Logan encouraged gently. “We’ll talk afterward. I promised I wouldn’t lie, right? No secrets.”  
Clint had an unnatural urge to demand a pinky promise. Instead, he nodded to the two men and strode off, keeping his back straight as he swaggered back to the archery table. He felt the back of his neck prickle, and his ears burned, but he didn’t look back once.  
Wendy was waiting for him, apparently eager to continue. “I’ve been watching the set up,” she explained. “They set up rudimentary moving targets. This will be a hoot!”  
“That does sound awesome,” Clint agreed, putting the spy/pirate out of his mind. “How are they doing it?”  
“See those guys on the sides, behind the wood barriers? They’ve been running ropes and pulleys across the field attached to targets. Some are in the grass, but you can see the ones in the air. The targets look pretty small too. It’s going to be extra hard,” she exclaimed giddily, clutching his arm as she pointed out different things. “Some of them are even meant to pop up, though I don’t know how they managed that; some kind of spring or something.”  
“This whole thing is a joke,” one of the ass-hat brothers (Clint’s name) said as the three of them walked up. “It’s all so amateurish and primitive. They should have just kept to a basic target instead of investing in this farce.”  
Clint couldn’t understand why the three bastards were so persistent on bothering him and Wendy. The other 10 archers were spread out around them, checking their equipment and talking amongst themselves, but the jerks made a beeline to Clint and Wendy. “I think it’s pretty interesting,” he offered politely when they looked like they expected an answer from him.   
“Tsk, shows how much of a country bumpkin you are,” Thomas sneered. “I bet you’ve never even competed before.”  
Clint winced, and the older brother, Tim, latched on to the perceived weakness. “You haven’t?” he acted surprised. “Well, no wonder this all seems so ‘interesting’ to you. You’re just a novice. You’ve just been lucky so far.”  
Clint bristled and opened his mouth to retort angrily, but the wizard called for their attention. For the moment he had dropped his squeaky tone. “All of you, gather around. We don’t have much time, because we’re running behind, so I’ll be brief. You will go one at a time. You will be given a quiver with two dozen arrows. You have to shoot all 24 in the time we give you, but you determine your targets. The main target is the straw dummy from before but there will also be moving targets. If you hit a moving target, you will get points based on the accuracy of your shot and the difficulty of the target. The moving targets are worth more, but you will receive no points if you miss so use your best judgement. To keep things fair, archers who have not taken their turn will wait in the tent so they won’t know where the moving targets are beforehand. It will keep things interesting. Any questions?”  
After a few short clarifications and a drawing to determine the order, the Wizard sent the first archer to the line and led the rest of them back to a tent set up off to the side. The old prospector who had signed out the bows would watch them to make sure no one peeked.   
Clint was a little disappointed to be almost the last to shoot, unlucky number 13, since he couldn’t watch the others, especially Wendy. It also meant that he couldn’t gauge how many points he’d need to win. He’d have to do his best, to be sure. It made him anxious. The atmosphere in the tent was tense, and it only thickened as people left. No one spoke and even the jerks kept their mouths shut, probably because the bow-maker was watching them all so close. When it was Wendy’s turn he wished her luck and went to stand by the old man.  
“Looks like you’re still in it, boy,” the man said with a grin. “How’s she handling for you?”  
“She’s the best I’ve ever used,” Clint answered honestly. “She’s like a dream.”  
“I’m glad you’re taken with her, makes it easier to let her go,” he said softly.   
“You’ll keep your word, right?” Clint pressed. “If I win, you’ll give her to me?”  
“Sure thing, son,” the man agreed easily. “Make sure you stop by my stall before you leave, and I’ll sell you an oil for her that will keep her shine. Maybe an extra bowstring or two as well.”  
“Definitely,” Clint promised.   
They waited in silence, and Clint felt a lot better as he stroked the beautiful grain of his bow. He’d be perfect just for his bow, never mind the contest. Still, that cash prize of $700 would be nice.   
“Number 13,” the blue and orange jester called in.   
“Jason, care to spell me?” the old man asked. “I want to watch this one.”  
“Of course,” Jason nodded eagerly, the bells on his hat bouncing around.   
“Come on, son,” the bow-maker said, pushing Clint out of the tent. “Let’s see what you can do.”  
Clint walked up to the starting point in a little of a haze. He was used to performing in front of an audience and he knew he wouldn’t miss, but he still felt nervous. He accepted his quiver with numb fingers that could barely get the belt around his waist. He scanned the crowd nervously and spotted Logan standing next to Nick Fury. Logan saw him looking and tipped his cowboy hat gravely and Clint felt his gut relax. He could do this. He’d prove he was worthy of Logan’s attention and pride. He took a deep breath and looked to the wizard for the start.  
“You have five minutes, so don’t dally,” the man explained. He held up a hand and dropped it fast. “Begin!”  
Clint nocked an arrow and let fly before he was even consciously aware of what he was aiming at. The stuffed rabbit that was slipping through the grass was pinned. His world narrowed to the targets in front of him. He shot the stuffed bird that sped over the top of the straw dummy. He noticed a rustle of movement and nailed the wooden target that popped up several yards past the dummy before putting an arrow in the dummy’s heart. Another target popped up and he nailed it twice before it fell. He scanned the area for his next target, alert for the slightest rustle of grass. He got another rabbit when they tried to slip it past and a red painted bird that swung across from a flag pole. Then he started shooting more arrows into the dummy, hitting all the vital points at least twice as close together as possible. Then one of the helpers on the side stuck out a painted target for him to hit, at the same time a target down the field popped up. He hit both of them with ease. This continued until he ran out of arrows, each time hitting his target dead on, regardless of where it appeared. He was alone with his bow and the targets, nothing else mattered and he was shocked when the wizard called “Time!”  
He came out of his focus with a sigh. “Well?” he asked with a smirk. He clenched his hands to hide how they were starting to shake a little.   
“Great job, kid,” the wizard applauded. “Go over there to join the rest while we tally your score.”  
Clint nodded and nearly stumbled as he made his way over to a row of chairs where the other archers were waiting. It looked like Wendy saved him a seat between her and a tall woman with brown hair piled on her head with a complicated braid. The old man came up beside him.   
“That was amazing shooting, son,” the man laughed, clapping Clint on the back. “I’ve been doing this fair for years and I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m honored to have you using one of my bows.”  
“Really?” Clint asked amazed. “But I haven’t won, yet.”  
“Don’t you worry about it, boy. I’d say you won. You know, usually people can’t hit every one of the moving targets and they had more of them this year. I’m sure you just blew the record out of the water.”  
Clint blushed and stammered and the man took pity on him and let him retreat to his seat. Though it wasn’t much of a retreat as the woman and Wendy gushed over him.   
Wendy punched his shoulder, which actually hurt a little. “You’ve been holding back, you bum,” she accused.   
“Aw, Wendy,” he whined but when she glared at him he admitted, “Maybe a little? I just didn’t want to show my hand too early, you know?”  
She huffed, which made the woman beside Clint laugh. “Fine,” the red-head said. “I forgive you, only because you’re awesome.”   
Clint was sure he was the color of her hair as he hid his face in his hands.

After everyone finished, all that was left was to wait for the results. It took a while, since there were apparently a couple of ties. Clint’s stomach was doing acrobatics, despite Wendy’s assurance that he had done great and was sure to win. The two of them stayed near the tall woman, who introduced herself as Jan, because the older woman had taking a liking to them and glared until the terrible trio took their vitriol somewhere else. Clint liked her a lot since she reminded him of the bearded lady, though he didn’t tell her that. They passed the time pleasantly talking about archery. Jan apparently taught archery at her local community college and she was a fountain of information about the history of the sport. That had never interested Trickshot, so Clint felt like an idiot as the women discussed the origins of the recurve bow, but he was happy to just listen. Maybe Logan would help him find some books on the subject, later.  
Finally, the results were in. The wizard stepped forward holding his staff and a clipboard. On one side of him stood the two “nobles” from the juniors contest along with a new pair, all of them fully decked out in medieval gowns and suits including some really goofy looking puffy pants. The women’s hair was piled high on their heads with faux jewels for decoration. Clint wondered if that hurt their necks. On the other side, the jester and the bow-maker stood holding ribbons for the runners-up.  
The wizard started at the bottom. A heavy-set man with a cheerful face graciously accepted 15th, setting the pace of accepting the ribbon then bowing respectfully to the royals before moving aside for the next contestant. Wendy took 13th which she shrugged at, disappointed but proud she made it this far. Thomas took 12th, which made Clint snarl. Jan took 10th and Wendy and Clint cheered and whistled for her. The jerk’s brother, Tim, took 6th. He didn’t even bother to bow before stalking angrily to his brother.   
At last, they started to announce the winners. “In third place, this will have the honor of demonstrating thine skill before their majesties, the King and Queen, in the Grand Tournament and the prize of $100, Theodor Wilcox the fourth.”   
The last of the brothers stepped forward. He received his envelope and red ribbon with a bright, fake smile on his face. He bowed theatrically to the royals before striding back to his brothers.   
The wizard watched the young man with just a hint of exasperation before checking his list again and lifting his staff. “It is my honor to award second place, with the esteemed prize of $200 to Richard Law. Three cheers!” He led the crows in three cheers of “hail” and a big man with a respectable blond beard, but no hair on his crown, stepped forward to collect his prize. He kissed the ladies hands and bowed deeply before the lords, extending his leg elegantly.   
This seemed to lift the wizard’s spirits and he grinned as he waved his staff around and nearly smacked the jester in the head. “And our Grand Champion, with the respectable prize of $700, Francis Summers!”   
As the wizard lead the crowd in a succession of “hurrahs”, Clint walked up to claim his prize. He felt like he was stepping on clouds in his new leather moccasins as he approached the “royals”. The lord from before stepped forward to clap him on the back and congratulate him while the lady gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, making him blush. They handed him a pewter goblet with “Kingdom’s Champion Archer” stamped on the side with glass jewels embedded in the base. Inside were his envelope of prize money and a new leather wrist guard of tooled leather.   
“That was Jim’s idea,” the other gentleman said when Clint picked out the gauntlet. “He said that you needed a new one, but you better go to him to buy new a new finger guard. Congratulations, son. You have performed beyond any expectations.”  
Clint rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “I just tried my best,” he admitted quietly.   
“Then your best is better than we’ve ever seen,” the new lady laughed. She was younger than the first but her costume looked finer in a pretty blue with silver edging. “Well done, Francis. Now let’s get some pictures, shall we? Then you can enjoy the fair for a while before you have to perform for their Majesties.” She winked at him as she spun him around for the photographers.   
There was a series of flashes and a rush of further congratulations before Clint finally broke way to find Logan again. His mind was spinning and he felt a little dizzy from all the attention. The whole feel was different than he was used to. In the circus, he was praised and fawned over by fans but it was expected of him to be perfect. No one asked for his autograph, like at the circus, but everyone he talked to praised his skill, telling him over and over again how exceptional he was. Several women said that his parents must be so proud of him and he must have worked hard to get so good. That last threw him the most. No one at the circus mentioned the hours and hours he spent practicing until he never missed. It was expected, insisted upon and if he failed to hold up those standards he was punished. He thought back to how the other archers reacted when they missed. Some cursed, some laughed but most seemed to shrug it off as no big deal. Trickshot had never been so forgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note, if you haven't noticed I'm changing some of the tags around as I go. Natasha won't be showing up for a long time, so I took her off. I did add Phil Coulson though because I have plans. And the X-men will be coming so I'll add them as they appear. Just be patient with me and let me know if there is a tag I'm missing. Thank you.


	7. Chapter 7 –Scurvy Dogs and Secret Agents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing with the adventure at the Fair, Clint makes some new friends, sort of. I'm having way too much fun with this segment. It's nice to let the characters have their fun before I send them into choppier seas. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 7 –Scurvy Dogs and Secret Agents  
>>>>==========>

Clint was still in a daze from his win and the subsequent attention when he finally located Logan, who instantly noticed his distraction. “Earth to Hawkeye,” the mutant teased, waving a hand in front of Clint’s face. “Great job up there. You certainly gave them something to talk about.”   
The man reached up to ruffle Clint’s hat, finally bringing the archer out of his thoughts. He shrugged off the hand with a laugh. “Yeah, they all seem pretty impressed by me, but you know, who could blame them.”  
Logan nodded and patted the teen’s shoulder. “Yep, the Amazing Hawkeye strikes again.” He glanced around and Clint finally noticed that Nick Fury had disappeared. “I still need to talk with Fury for a bit. How about I keep track of your prizes so you can enjoy the fair on your own for a while? There is still a lot we haven’t seen.”  
Clint thought about it. It would be easier if he wasn’t carrying around a fricking goblet. Plus, he was a little nervous to be carrying so much money. He knew that a skinny kid like him looked like an easy target to anyone who knew that he had that money. He glanced at Logan who was waiting patiently for him to make up his mind. Clint hoped that he wasn’t misplacing his trust, but he didn’t think so. “Fine,” he said finally, handing over the goblet and his old arm guard. He pulled on the new one and marveled at how the supple leather flexed with his arm. “Take this stuff and …,” he paused before pulling out the envelope. “Keep this safe for me, please? I still have the money from the kids contest, so I’ll be good and well…” he trailed off, not quite ready to admit to weakness.  
“I’m less likely to be jumped,” Logan finished easily, making the envelope disappear. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ve got you. Now go have fun.”  
Ever the mature one, Clint stuck out his tongue before running off. First thing he did was find the bow-maker’s stall. It was not by the archery range, surprisingly, but one of the pretzel hawkers quickly pointed him in the right direction. The old man was waiting for him, seated on a stump outside with his flint as he fashioned arrowheads.   
“So, I see you like the armguard?” he asked as Clint approached. Luckily the stall was in the middle of a lull and Clint was the only customer.   
“Yes, sir,” Clint agreed flexing his arm to show off a little. “It fits perfectly.”  
“My wife makes ‘em,” the prospector explained as he got up and moved into his booth proper. Along one wall was a line of bows of all sizes from short hunting bows to long bows taller than Clint. A display of bow strings hung over the open space next to the door, arranged by length and strength. Flint arrowheads were in bowls on the counter next to the cash register. Behind the register were shelves filled with leather gear for archery ranging from gloves to quivers. The only thing not connected to the sport in the whole stall was a rack of dyed fox tails in all colors. Clint walked around with wide eyes. He had never been in a real archery shop, other than the hunting store Logan took him to the other day. It was fascinating to see the different styles of bows and arrows and other equipment. He reverently stroked a longbow with a dark finish. He imagined he could feel the power of the bow as he felt the smooth grain.  
“These are all beautiful,” the boy whispered, not wanting to break the bubble that had formed between the little shop and the rest of the fair.  
“Thank you, son,” the man said, leaning back against the counter as he watched Clint explore. “Always nice to meet another enthusiast. Name’s Chip. Now,” he clapped his hands to get Clint’s attention. “Let’s get you set up with some gear so you can go explore the rest of the festival. I mentioned an oil before, let’s see if I can find it.” He rummaged behind the counter for a minute before pulling out a bottle. “It’s really a furniture polish but this brand works well with what I use. And a couple bow strings,” he reached up to pull out a couple off a shelf that were already wound up and packaged unlike the ones hanging by the door. “Let’s see, and finger guards. What style do you use boy?”  
“Um, I have these gloves,” Clint said pulling out the worn leather gloves that Buck had given him. They were worn almost through on the fingers.   
Chip scoffed. “I thought you were using those because of the fair. Is that all you have?” He studied the gloves, turning them over. “Both are worn.”  
“I’m ambidextrous,” Clint shrugged. Swordsman had insisted and Trickshot had agreed. “My teacher didn’t have anything else that would fit me and money was tight,” Clint explained sheepishly. He rubbed his thumb over his callous, remembering the blisters from when he started. Buck never let blisters or blood stop practice.   
The old prospector looked offended for a moment before he turned to rummage through the bins of leather items. “Here,” he said finally. “Try these on.” He handed over a pair of leather gloves with thickened pads on the fingers. “This is closest to what you have.”  
Clint shrugged and pulled on the gloves. “They fit really nice,” he offered, not sure what the man was looking for. Chip huffed and grabbed another pair for Clint to pull on. These fit better, the rough leather pads falling right over Clint’s callouses, tight enough that they wouldn’t slip. “These are better,” Clint said, flexing his fingers.   
“Good, but you’re a growing boy and they won’t stay that way. Here are some other options,” Chip said laying out some finger guards that just covered the tips of three fingers and an odd shaped flap of leather called a finger tab. “Try it, just put it on and draw your bow, see how it feels.”  
His face burning, Clint did as instructed, trying both styles. “I like the glove better,” he pointed out as he put the tab back on the counter.   
“I know, boy,” Chip agreed, “but I think one of these would work better for you in the long run. Which do you like?”  
Clint glared at the leather on the counter. He really liked those gloves. He pointed at the three finger glove. “It feels more like what I’m used to.”  
Chip nodded. “Whatever works for you, son.” He grabbed a bag and started ringing up Clint’s choices.   
Clint watched him, a little anxious at the way the total was adding up. He knew that it wouldn’t be cheap, but he was wondering if he should have kept the prize money rather than giving it to Logan. Chip wrapped up the oil and stuck it in, quickly followed by the strings. Clint winced at the price of the gloves and grimaced as the man tossed in the three finger guard and two of the tabs.  
“The tabs are on me,” Chip explained as he did something complicated to add a discount that let Clint breathe again. “Keep one in your pocket that way you can shoot even if you forget your gloves. It’s quicker to slip on.” He grabbed his business card and dropped that in the bag too. “Call me if you need anything else or just replacements.”  
Clint ducked his head as he pulled out the cash to pay the man. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured as he accepted the bag.   
“I see potential in you, Francis,” Chip said kindly. “It’s an honor to encourage that and I’m not just saying that because of where we are. It is an honest pleasure. Now, shoo. I’ve got customers waiting.”  
Clint laughed, clutching the small plastic bag. “Yes, sir. Thank you again.”  
Chip waived him off, turning instead to sell a bow to a girl in a princess dress, Clint apparently forgotten.  
Clint walked away in a bit of a daze, which was starting to become a habit. He stepped out of the way to check his wallet. His new gear had taken a fair amount of his ready cash, but he still had enough to enjoy himself before the tournament so with an effort he ignored the weird feelings in his stomach and focused on doing just that. It wasn’t like the fair didn’t have enough to occupy him. He bought a cheesecake on a stick and munched on it as he walked. He stopped for a while at a shop selling coin jewelry to marvel at the wide variety of coins from all over the world. Then he donated a few dollars to a raptor rescue center after they let him gently pet an owl, though he was really mesmerized by the red tailed hawk. She was beautiful and bigger than he expected, since he had only ever seen one from the distance. Her eyes were striking, a rich gold that he almost couldn’t look away from.  
“You like Kitty?” the volunteer asked as Clint dropped his money in the box distractedly.  
Clint shook his head to clear it. “What kind of a name is that?” he asked.  
The volunteer laughed. She was a young woman with her brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. She also had a nose that looked similar to the hawk’s beak. “I didn’t name her. Apparently the little girl who found her on the side of the road called her that and it stuck.” She ran a hand carefully over the bird’s head. “Poor thing was hit by a car and no body stopped until the little girl screamed for her dad to stop and help the ‘kitty’. Only it was this pretty girl instead. They wrapped her up in a towel and brought her in. She can’t fly anymore but she’s a wonderful teaching aid.”  
“She’s beautiful,” Clint breathed, caught again in the hawk’s gaze. It was several minutes before he could pull himself away and he was still thinking of Kitty when he walked to a quiet corner of the alley to throw away his cheesecake stick. That was why he didn’t notice he was followed.  
“Hey, freak,” a dark voice barked, startling Clint out of his thoughts. It took him a second to recognize the eldest of the jerk brothers. They had followed him into the little dead end where a line of trashcans had been set up just out of sight of the rest of the fair.   
Clint took a deep breath to keep calm. He wasn’t going to pick a fight. If they started anything, he’d just scream and someone would come. He turned to face them and tried to take a step to the side to see if they’d let him past. The middle brother, Tim pushed him back hard enough that he bumped into the trash bins.  
“We want to know how you can shoot like that,” Theodor explained his voice dangerous. He didn’t look like a show off college boy now; he looked like a predator.  
“I bet he cheated somehow,” Thomas said, standing tall next to his brothers. He reached forward to shove Clint harder against the bins.   
“I don’t think so, Tommy,” Theo said thoughtfully. He grinned maliciously, his arms crossed over his chest as he considered his prey. “At least not in the way you’re thinking. I think it’s simpler than that.”  
Tim looked over at his bother. “What do you mean, Theo? Better equipment or something?”  
“Or something,” Theodor purred. “I think he’s a mutant. Is that it, amateur? You shoot like that because you have some kind of freaky power?”  
Clint growled under his breath. “I’m just better than you, ever think of that?” he snapped back. He clenched his bag and bow in his hands. He really wished he could hit the jerks but he thought of Logan and how disappointed the man would be. That made him smile because of how Logan would react to Clint being accused of being a mutant like him.   
The small smirk seemed to piss the brothers off. Tim shoved him again before grabbing his collar and pulling him up to his tip-toes. “You think this is funny?”  
Clint shook his head and dropping his bag, brought his now-free arm up and down over the young man’s arms to break his grip on Clint’s shirt. It was lucky that the shirt that Logan bought him was better quality than the cheap t-shirt he had on before because it didn’t rip.  
Theodor watched, unamused. “I think a bumpkin like you could only beat me if you had an unfair advantage, you freak. So, am I right? Where did you learn to shoot?”  
Clint bit his tongue. He was pissed, beyond pissed but he didn’t really have a comeback right now. He couldn’t tell them he learned in the circus, obviously. That would just add fuel to the fire. He must have taken too long to think about it because Tim slapped him across the face.  
“Tell us the truth, you little bastard,” Thomas barked. “Are you really a freak, a mutie?” He looked over at his brothers for encouragement before stepping forward into Clint’s face. “Is that little man you were with a mutant too? He looked like a freaky runt. Maybe we should call the cops on you?”  
Clint clenched his fists and ground his teeth to keep from exploding on these bastards. They crossed a line when they insulted Logan but he had promised to not make a scene or start a fight. This had been the best day of his life and he was not going to let them ruin it. He opened his mouth to retort, to say they were the bastards, but Tim slapped him again. The shock of the hit was enough to jar him from his inactivity. Clint snarled and grabbed the older boy’s shirt and was pulling back his arm to knock out those nice white teeth when someone cleared their throat.  
It wasn’t a loud sound, shouldn’t have even carried over the noise of the fair but it was enough to get all four boys’ attention. Clint looked up to glare at the new comer, expecting another enemy and ready to take on all comers. To his surprise, Nick Fury was standing there. He should have looked ridiculous with his black trench coat and eye path, not to mention the half eaten candy apple he was holding, but instead he looked terrifying. He glared at them and with only a raised eyebrow convinced Clint to drop Tim’s shirt and back away.   
“What do you think you were doing?” Fury asked carefully, studying each one of them.  
Thomas started to tell him off, but his oldest brother grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Nothing, sir,” Theodor said, his innocent college boy act back in place. “We were just talking to Francis here about the archery competition we were just in.”  
“Is that so?” Fury offered blandly. He took a bite of his apple, showing his white teeth. “I’ll have to ask you to wrap up your discussion. I need to talk to young Francis here.”  
“Why should we?” Thomas grumbled but his bothers, who had more sense, shushed him.   
“We’ll see you at the Tournament,” Theodor said, pushing his brothers in front of him as he inched past the tall black man. “Excuse us, sir.”  
Fury watched them leave before turning back to Clint who hadn’t dared move. Logan’s friend was scary, even more than he looked since Clint knew who he was. “Well, they had more sense than I expected,” Fury said easily as he tossed his apple into the can behind Clint. “Are you okay, Hawkeye?”  
The man’s scrutiny was unnerving. “Yeah, they’re just a bunch of bullies.”  
Fury hummed in agreement. “Don’t tell Logan that he slapped you,” he said, making Clint look up at him in surprise. “That kid’s looks won’t be improved by stab wounds.” Fury paused, looking thoughtful. “Though, he’s mellowed some since joining the professor, so maybe he’d only break the brat’s arms.”  
Clint flinched; threats against arms always scared him since he needed his so much. “It was nothing I haven’t dealt with before, I would have been fine,” Clint postured, squatting to pick up his stuff rather than bending over so he didn’t have to take his eyes off the spy.   
Fury raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They stood in awkward silence for a minute until Clint started to fidget which seemed to annoy the director. “Stop that,” he barked, “you look like you need the head. Just relax, kid. I’m not going to bite you.”  
Clint snickered uneasily. “No, but you might make me walk the plank, right?” he joked. It was a reflex to make a joke when he was nervous.   
Fury glared at him and turned to leave with a swish of his coat. Clint watched him leave, but when the spy turned to see if the teen was going to follow, Clint decided it was safer to let the man lead the way.   
“You know,” Clint said as they melted back into the crowd, “you kind of stand out in that get up.” Fury turned to give him a look, but when he didn’t say anything, Clint continued. “I mean, you’re a spy right? So you’re supposed to blend in, be incognito, right?”  
“This is how I dress for work,” Fury acknowledged after a minute’s thought. “I came straight from there to meet Logan and his little problem.” The look he shot Clint made the archer’s stomach drop. For a guy with only one eye, he had the death glare down pat.  
“So you dress to impress, or intimidate or whatever,” Clint agreed. “That’s cool, but you’re scaring kids, bub.” He tried to look innocent when Fury stopped to glare at him over Logan’s favored phrase.  
“Those bullies had more sense than you,” Fury muttered while Clint continued to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Fine, what do you suggest?”  
That surprised the archer. Honestly, he was just teasing expecting a brush off or a cuff. Yet, Fury actually looked like he expected an answer. Clint looked around for inspiration. Oh, that idea was so evil, but so perfect. Time to find out if the super spy had a sense of humor. “Well,” Clint said carefully, “Since you already look like a pirate, how about we just finish the look?”  
The glare he got for that was terrifying, but so worth it. He led a steaming Fury into the nearest hat stall which just happened to sell over the top captain hats.   
Clint grabbed a purple velvet tri-corner hat embellished with peacock feathers. “See, with this no one would recognize you and it’ll protect your head from the sun.”  
Nick Fury, director of SHIELD and the nightmare of the underworld, eyed the hat with distaste. “No,” he stated flatly.   
Undeterred, Clint grabbed a red leather one with a huge ostrich feather. “How about this one? It complements the flint in your eyes.”  
“Why are you enjoying this?” Fury demanded, but he bent over enough for Clint to put the leather monstrosity on his head. He glared at his reflection in the mirror. “I am not wearing that.”  
Sensing the danger in the new customer, the salesman had stayed quiet behind the counter but when Fury’s back was turned (the spy could still see the clerk in the mirror) he waved to catch Clint’s attention and pointed at a more understated Black hat with a single red plume. The teen winked at the man and grabbed it for Fury to try on.  
Once on the man’s bald head, it transformed his whole look, pulling it together into a pirate costume instead of a scary spy master. Even his steely gaze looked right rather than threatening.   
“Yes, that is definitely the one,” Clint said, impressed. “You look like one of the fair goers now.”  
Fury sighed. “I think this is a bad idea,” he said glancing at the way the clerk had relaxed enough to smile.  
“Nope, it’s a brilliant idea. You’ve been scaring me all day; I can’t imagine what you do to normal people. I’m getting this for you for my own peace of mind.” He ignored the daggers that Fury glared at him and went to pay the clerk, who gave him a discount because the poor man was still a little intimidated by Fury. Clint wasn’t going to argue and soon they were back on the main thoroughfare.   
Fury studied the crowd and how they reacted to him, which was a lot less cautious now that he looked like one of them. Clint figured that the director didn’t interact with the public very often, especially not on his own terms. Speaking of which, where did Logan go? Clint looked around but he didn’t spot the mutant’s cowboy hat anywhere.  
“He’s working with one of my agents to get the paperwork sorted so you can stay with him legally,” Fury answered the unspoken question. “He’ll find us before your final contest. In the meantime, I hoped to get to know a little more about you.”  
“Buy me one of those Italian ice things and I’ll try to cooperate,” Clint agreed after a minute to consider. He didn’t really want to talk but Logan trusted him, so Clint decided he could give it a shot too.   
After a muttered comment about expense accounts, Fury bought the ice, which was really a scoop of flavored shaved ice on an orange and directed them to a recently unoccupied table out of the rush of people. Clint licked the orange treat and waited for Fury to start.  
“Logan gave me the basics as he knew them, but I want to hear your side,” Fury explained fixing Clint with a look.  
Suddenly, the teen knew what a mouse felt like when faced with a hawk. He swallowed and wiped the juice off his face. “Where do you want me to start?”  
“The beginning.”   
“Well, um, my name is Clint Barton and I’m 14 years old,” Clint began. Fury nodded so after another lick, the teen continued. “My parent’s died when I was little and my brother and I went into foster care, but it wasn’t a good fit.” He licked his ice and waited for his stomach to settle as he remembered those dark years being passed around from house to house before they ended up in the group home that they ran away from. “So we ran away to join the circus.”  
“When was that?” Fury asked.  
“About five years ago? Maybe? I think I was eight when we left the group home.” Lick.  
“What did you do in the circus?”  
“At first we just did odd jobs, the kinds of things that need small hands or bodies.” Slurp. “Then when the Swordsman needed a helper, he picked me.” Suck. “Later, Trickshot gave me a bow and Hawkeye was born,” he grinned at the spy and licked his lips which were covered in syrup from sucking on the ice. When he swiped a napkin over his face, it came away orange. He enjoyed the way Fury’s eyebrow twitched each time he noisily licked the ice almost as much as the treat itself.  
“What did they teach you?” Fury studiously continued.  
Clint focused on his Italian ice while he considered how to answer that. It was kind of a loaded question. On one hand, if he bragged too much, the spy could decide he wanted the archer after all and take Clint away from Logan. But if Clint didn’t seem good enough, the director might not help them. Besides, he was pretty sure that he couldn’t lie convincingly to the man, who is a professional after all. “Jacques started me out throwing knives and later how to sword fight.” Lick. “But my aim was so good that Buck took an interest in me, even though Barney was technically his helper. He said I was a natural with a bow.”  
Fury nodded and stared into the distance. Clint avoided his eyes and sucked on the rapidly melting ice. He could see the orange base under the ice now. It was almost sour after the sweet ice. He focused on that rather than worrying about what he had revealed. He hadn’t even told Logan all this. Should he have asked to wait until Logan could be here to hear all of this? Now he’d have to go over it all again with the Canadian.  
“Tell me about what happened when you met Logan,” Fury ordered suddenly. Clint flinched.  
Grateful that he didn’t have to go into detail about the pros and cons of his circus days; Clint explained about meeting Logan at the show. He actually made Nick smirk when he mentioned shooting the cigar out of the little man’s hand. He told the spy about catching his mentors with the stolen money and confronting them. “I was trying to convince them to just put it back when Logan butted in,” he stopped to think. “I guess that he figured on saving me because Buck was getting violent, but I could have handled it. Anyway, he wouldn’t back off and then Buck hit me and I passed out. Next thing I remember, I was in a hotel room with Logan outside. He said that Madam Z told him to get me out. Then the guys from SHIELD showed up. I was pretty freaked out by then, but Logan just told me to get inside and stay quiet. They didn’t see me, but I watched through the window. They said they wanted Logan’s help to catch their, how did they put it, ‘secondary target’, which I guess was me. But Logan drove them off.” Clint shrugged and sucked on his ice some more. The ice was almost gone, leaving him with just the orange. He was glad for something to focus on rather than the panicky feeling from remembering that night. It wasn’t so long ago but it felt like a life time. “Logan promised to take care of me and help deal with the situation, which is why he called you, I guess.”  
Fury nodded again. “That lines up with what Logan told me. Look, I want you to know that this is unusual. SHIELD does not operate like this and I am looking into it personally.”  
Clint nodded in agreement and started to peel his orange half. “I figured and Logan said something like that. Sounds like you have a problem.”  
“I don’t like to admit it, but you’re right. Unfortunately, until I have a better idea of how far it goes, you are not safe. I recommend you stick close to our hairy friend until this is sorted,” he said as he stood up. He adjusted his hat and waited for Clint to stand up as well.  
“Was planning on it,” Clint huffed as he tossed his orange peel and soaked napkins into a trash bag hanging from a tree. “But I so needed your input, thank you.” He was able to reach a level of sarcasm that made Fury scowl. It was beautiful.   
“Sarcastic brat,” Fury growled. “Let’s find your guardian and get this finalized so I can get rid of this hat.”  
“Aw, why?” Clint asked all smiles again. “It looks so good on you.”  
Fury’s response was a glare that made people back away, but Clint counted it as a win.

Nick Fury’s agent in charge of paperwork was an unimposing man with a receding hairline and a perfect suit. His whole demeanor was of an accountant and Clint felt an irresistible urge to mess with him. He didn’t get a chance though because the guy was the model of efficiency. He directed Clint in signing several documents with Fury signing as witness. He pulled out the paper almost before they were done signing and sticking a new one down with a short explanation. Logan had already signed everything so he just watched, bemused while the agent, who had not been introduced, shuffled through the papers as smoothly as a Vegas card dealer. It was so smooth that Clint would have suspected the man to be a robot if it wasn’t for the tiniest smile in response to Fury’s hat and a dry question about candy apples.   
Before long, they were done and Clint needed to head to the Jousting Ring. The window for pranking was closing quickly, and he really wanted to see if he could ruffle the smug agent. In a last ditch effort, while Fury was exchanging contact information with Logan, Clint reached out to pick the man’s pocket. In a blur of motion, the archer was suddenly bent over the table with one arm pinned behind his back by the nondescript agent.  
“Please keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Barton,” the man said dryly before releasing the teen. Clint leaped back as soon as he was free, shaking the tingly feeling from his arm.  
The other two men watched, amused, as Clint stuck out his tongue and stalked over to stand next to Logan who ruffled his hat over his hair. The agent didn’t even blink.   
Fury raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Are we done here, Coulson?” he asked.  
“Yes, Director. As soon as I file these, Mr. Howlett will be Barton’s legal guardian and I will have papers for the both of them as well as at least two aliases,” Agent Coulson, apparently, said as he straightened the papers into a file which he clutched to his chest with crossed arms. “I’ll deliver them as soon as possible.”  
“Fine,” Director Fury nodded. “Logan, stay in touch while we figure this out. I might need you to run some of those errands for me, if you are available.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Logan agreed with a wave. “We’ll be in touch. I’ll help were I can.”  
“Clint, stay out of trouble,” Fury ordered and turned to leave with a sweep of his coat that was still impressive even after seeing it a few times. Coulson nodded politely before following his boss out of the little security office they had commandeered and disappearing into the crowd.  
Logan leaned against the door frame and watched the swirl of people for a minute before glancing at Clint. “Did you convince Nick to buy that hat?”  
Clint laughed. “Yep,” he said proudly. “I even bought it for him, though I liked the purple one with the peacock feathers better.” He winked at his companion. “He wouldn’t go for it and about gave the poor sales guy a heart attack.”  
Logan grinned and tipped his hat at Clint who preened at the complement. “No, I don’t suppose he would. Looked good though. Come on, we should start making our way to the jousting.”  
Clint deflated at that. “Aw, time, no,” he whined. Today had been awesome, the best in his life, and he was not looking forward to it ending. He kicked idly at a pebble.   
Logan leaned over to bump his shoulder. “We got time, short stack. We’ll check out the shops along this row on our way and grab something to eat.”  
Clint sighed, letting his shoulders rise and fall. Then he resolutely turned to look in a shop and nearly fell into a decorative fountain between a jewelry shop and a stall selling leather bound journals. He groaned, “Aw, feet, no,” as Logan snickered, though the mutant did help him regain his balance and steer him away from tripping hazards. The incident, while embarrassing, did lighten the mood and Clint returned to having fun.  
The two of them strolled along, poking their noses into the stalls that looked interesting. Clint liked the tent selling clay sculptures of mythical creatures. He pointed out a troll that he claimed look like Logan, which made the older man roll his eyes. He wasn’t too annoyed though, because he bought a blue elf creature which he said was for a friend. The stall selling incense had them scurrying past as fast as possible. The strong, warring scents made Clint sneeze; he couldn’t imagine how bad it must have been for Logan’s mutant senses. There were several booths selling art work, which Clint could appreciate but he didn’t really care about. Same with the booths for clothes. He had all the gear he needed and the crazy dresses they had on display held no interest for him.   
Eventually they made it back to the main food area. Logan led them to a vendor who sold beer and bought one for himself and a root beer for Clint to go with a boat of fries.   
Clint wrinkled his nose at Logan’s beverage, which made the man pause as he went to take a drink. “What’s wrong? You don’t want one, do you? You’re way too young,” he asked.  
“No,” Clint said, turning away and stuffing a couple fries in his mouth. “I just don’t like alcohol.”  
Logan put his plastic cup down and Clint glared at the foamy liquid. It’s stupid, he knows. He knew Logan drank, had known since he saw the beers in the fridge that first night, but being with someone who drinks brings back some really bad memories. At the same time, he doesn’t want to inconvenience his guardian; especially now that it was official. He’d be fine, Clint told himself. He would just stay out of Logan’s way when he drank. He’d done it before.  
“What don’t you like about it?” Logan asked carefully.   
Clint kicked himself for bringing on a serious conversation while they were having fun. “Everything,” Clint joked, his laugh sounding harsh to his own ears. “It smells gross, tastes worse, and well, I don’t like drunks.”  
Logan nodded. He picked up his beer and leaned back, considering the amber fluid. “If it makes you that upset, I could go without,” Clint opened his mouth to object but Logan waved him to be quiet. “I’m serious. I’ll be honest, I won’t enjoy it but I don’t have to drink. But something to remember is that the alcohol isn’t the problem, it’s the drinker losing control. Remember what I am, Clint. I don’t get drunk. My system processes it too fast for me to even get a buzz without a lot of effort. So what do you think?”  
Clint let out a huff. “I still think it’s gross, but honestly it’s the way people get violent that bothers me the most.” He looked up to meet Logan’s eyes. “I think I can deal.”  
“Oh, I’m violent,” Logan promised, taking a big swig from his beer. “But it’s not from drinking and I don’t take it out on innocents. I save my claws for the bad guys.”  
Clint laughed and felt a weight lift off his chest. He mimicked Logan’s movements with his root beer until the man realized what he was doing. Then the feral growled playfully and flicked a fry at the teen who caught it in his mouth, grinning like a loon. They joked and teased back and forth for a while before finally heading down to the jousting arena.  
Wendy was waiting with her family near the staging area. She waved wildly when she saw Clint which prompted her brothers to start whistling and catcalling. Wendy was not amused and she smacked each boy upside the head so they were quiet by the time Clint and Logan reached them.   
“Hey Wendy,” Clint greeted her.  
“Francis, I wanted you to meet my family,” the red haired girl said before turning to wave a hand at the Corduroy clan. “This is my dad, Dan and all my annoying brothers. You don’t need to know their names.”  
Amid the complaints of her brothers, Clint held out his hand to Dan whose own massive paw completely engulfed the archer’s when they shook hands, though big man was surprisingly gentle.   
“Nice to meet ‘cha,” Dan boomed.  
“This is my, um…” Clint blanked on what to call Logan, they hadn’t talked about it and he didn’t want to presume. His mind raced as he glanced over, hoping Logan would save him.   
“I’m James,” Logan said smoothly. “Francis is my ward. We’re still getting used to each other.”  
It was odd watching Logan shake hands with Wendy’s dad. They had a lot in common, mostly in their fashion sense, but Dan was so big that Logan looked even smaller than normal.   
“Good for you, James,” the big ginger thundered and smacked the smaller man on the back. He obviously expected to stagger the mutant but seemed pleased that Logan took it without flinching. “Fatherhood is a wonderful experience, just look at what it’s done for me.” He turned to beam at his family, showing a toothy smile through his beard.  
Leaving the men to talk, Wendy turned to Clint. “We’re here to watch the demonstration. I can’t wait to see what they set up for you.”   
“Yeah, based on that final, I bet it’s pretty cool. I wonder if they’d let me borrow a horse?” Clint said idly, watching Logan size up Big Dan.   
“Oh, you know mounted archery?” Wendy asked, excited, while her brothers surround them, also making excited noises. One of them was about Clint’s age, but it was hard to tell with the fringe of hair covering the boy’s face. They are all in plaid like their dad so they definitely looked like a family of lumber jacks.   
“Um, yeah,” Clint said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “My tutors were pretty unorthodox. I can shoot from almost anywhere.”  
“That sounds so awesome,” Wendy gushed. “Shoot, the squeaky wizard is waving at you. Better get going.” Clint looked away from the pretty red head, and sure enough, there was the wizard, wildly waving his arms to get Clint’s attention.  
Clint raised an arm to signal he saw the guy, and turned to Logan. “I gotta go,” he said, trying to catch the mutant’s attention.  
“Go ahead, bub,” Logan encouraged. “I’ll be here.” When Clint didn’t look convinced, Logan laughed and patted his shoulder. “I’ve worked in the lumber industry. We’re just going to trade tips and complain about the old days.”  
Clint rolled his eyes but left with a friendly wave, hurrying over to the wizard. The man looked tired and even his pointy hat seemed to droop a little.  
“Francis, thank you for coming early. We need to talk about the demonstration. Come, let’s join the others,” the wizard said, again with his squeaky voice absent. He led Clint around the fenced off arena to the enclosed “backstage” where the knights were tending to their horses and equipment. One of them waved at the wizard as he walked in.  
“Jack! Find your lost archer?” the dark knight called. He was dressed in the black and red armor of the “bad guy”, but his easygoing smile and gentle touch with his steed showed how much of an act it was. “You going to start us on time for once?”  
“Stow it, Mitchell,” the wizard shot back good naturedly. He reached back and caught Clint’s shoulder. “I’ve got him, not that it will make much difference to your lazy ass. Try to keep hold of your sword this time, yeah?” The knight laughed and turned back to saddling his horse without a comeback. “Ignore Mitch, he’s just teasing. You are in plenty of time and it’s the set up that takes time, not the people, usually,” he explained absently. “I’m just trying something new this year and I think the three of you are skilled enough to pull it off, if you’re willing.”  
Clint laughed, “Sure, I’m game.” Honestly, the young archer was hoping for a chance to show off again. He couldn’t help it, he was a show man. Besides, it wasn’t like Logan and he would stick around, so what was the harm?  
“Perfect,” Jack said, reaching up to readjust his hat which was starting to slide off his head. They had reached the other two archers and the jester from before. Richard Law, the second place archer, greeted Clint warmly with a strong handshake and wide grin that showed through his beard which now sported braids and ribbons of a variety of colors. His bald head looked painfully sunburned, but he seemed unaffected by it. Theodor, however glared at Clint like he had kicked a dog, which Clint would never do but he would be up for kicking the jerk if necessary. Luckily, the college boy act was on full force as the two-faced jerk played up his eagerness for the adults. It pissed Clint off, but he was willing to go along with it for the show. It wasn’t like he had never had to perform with someone who didn’t like him before. He’d just grin, bear it, and do his best.  
“Now that we are all here, let me explain what I hope to do,” Jack the wizard explained. “You are all exceptional so I was hoping to do more of a trick shooting demo rather than just target practice, if you’re willing. What do you say?”  
“Sounds entertaining,” Theo said with a condescending smile. Clint and Richard nodded in agreement, even if Clint wished he could punch that smile off the jerk’s smug face. He still remembered the slaps the younger brother had given him.   
“Oh, wonderful. How about hitting tossed objects? Or through hoops? Our usual finale involves hitting balloons of paint. Maybe we can expand on that,” the jester, Jason explained. “We didn’t want to finalize anything until we knew you would be willing and able.”  
“I’m game,” Richard said. “I do some trick shooting back home. It’s a good way to get people interested in the school club. I’m a highschool gym teacher and I’m always looking for ways to get people involved.”  
“My teacher was a trickshooter,” Clint said truthfully. “I could hit anything you throw at me.”  
“Oh, that gives me ideas,” Jason said. “How about Tim, he’s the shotcaller over there,” he pointed at a tall thin man in hunting leathers who was checking things off a clipboard, “and I juggle between each other and you hit the balls? We can get up to four feet apart and throw slowly.”  
“Definitely,” Clint agreed, thinking of some of his tricks from the circus. They probably didn’t want to go that extreme considering that the archers were supposed to be amateurs.  
“Theodor,” Jack looked over at the last archer, who hadn’t spoken up. “Are you up for this?”   
His face was as sour as a lemon, but the college boy nodded sharply. “It’s a cheap trick, but I guess the uneducated public will enjoy it. I have never bothered with that side of the sport, so don’t expect any ideas from me.”  
“Good enough,” Jack agreed, brushing off the young man’s attitude. “So we’ll start with the juggling. We’ll get three colors of bean bags and give you three colors of arrows. Then you hit your color. Sound good?” They all nodded. “Next trick. We’ll hang hoops from some poles, we only have three, and you shoot through the hoops and hit the target. Lastly, we’ll bring out the paint balloons and I want all three of you to hit all the balloons as fast as you can. If we get it right, it looks very impressive as the wall explodes into color.”  
“Let’s start with the hoops then move to the juggling. Start with stationary, then moving targets, then colorful speed shooting. It’s a nice build up,” Jason pointed out.   
“I like it,” Richard said. He reached up to rub his red scalp, winced and lowered his hand. “I’m excited to see how the paint works. I might steal that.”  
“Go right ahead,” Jack agreed with a wave. “So anything else you want to try?”  
“How about hitting a small target?” Clint asked. “I can hit decreasing sized objects. If you think the crowd would like that.”  
“Oh, very good idea,” Jason said. He tapped his chin and the bells on his hat jingled. “Yes, we’ll do that after the juggling and declare you the champion showing your skill.”  
“I can shoot from looking in a mirror,” Richard said. “Want to see me do that?”  
“Oh certainly,” Jack said, clapping his hands. “Oh this will be a year to remember. Theodor? Do you have anything?”  
“No,” the jerk said bitterly. “I’ll do the group demonstrations but all this is really beneath me. You are belittling the sport.”  
Clint rolled his eyes. Richard caught him at it and turned his laugh into a cough.  
“Well,” Jack said, picking the reins up again. “Jason, get with Tim and get what we need. We have a short time to practice together then its show time.”  
Clint grinned gleefully at his shoes. This was going to be fun.


	8. Chapter 8- Tournaments and Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Final chapter of the Ren Faire arc. Man I had way too much fun writing that, which I know I have said multiple times, but sheesh. That was how many chapters for one day? Oh, well. I think it was worth it. Now we can continue on with the plot. But first Clint has some goodbyes to make.

>>>>============>  
The archers had about an hour to practice before the demonstration and while it was fun, Clint was ready to get to the main event. The wizard was very excited as he directed the roustabouts in setting up the targets. Apparently the whole archery competition was his baby and he was ready to step it up a notch this year. He wanted to put Larkspur on the map for archers and based on the chatter Clint had overheard he would succeed. It was exciting to be a part of that.   
Finally it was time to show their stuff. The helpers cleared out the seating behind the target board, a tall wooden fence that was propped up against the shorter wooden fence that enclosed the arena. It was for everyone’s safety that no one sat in the direction they would shoot. All the people who begrudgingly moved would return after the archery demonstration in time for the final jousting. After everything was set up, Jack led the archers out onto the field before the pavilion where the “royal family” was seated. Clint saw the two couples he met before and when the older woman waved regally at them, Clint risked a little wave back that made her smile and fan herself.  
Jack, in full costume with his hat, robes, and staff, announced the three archers in his squeakiest voice. Clint didn’t really listen because he got lost in all the flowery words, but he took the full courtly bow that Richard had taught him when Jack waved him forward. Behind them, Clint could hear the fairgoers cheering when the King rose and gently ordered them to display their skill. Only then did Clint and the others turn around.   
When Clint scanned the audience, the first person he saw was Wendy’s dad. The man was huge, loud, and had two of his sons on his shoulder. Not shoulders, he had both boys balanced on one shoulder while he pumped the air with his other arm. The next person that Clint noticed was Wendy who had her fingers in her mouth to whistle loud enough to bring every dog in the state to her side. Then Clint saw Logan. The mutant wasn’t cheering or drawing attention, but he was grinning and when he noticed Clint looking at him, the man tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Since Clint had first walked out into the ring at the circus, he had done literally countless shows but not one cheer from anyone in all that time made Clint’s heart pound like a simple tip of a cowboy hat from Logan. Later he would stress over it, wonder why he liked Logan’s quiet nod more than Wendy’s enthusiastic whistle or Dan’s shouts, but for now, it was show time.   
The first trick was simple enough. The three archers spread out in a line before the target, and then they shot through three midsized hoops to reach the target. Despite aiming for different hoops, they all hit the same target. Clint’s arrow hit a bullseye, but he didn’t rub it in. Next, Clint stepped up to shoot a line of paper targets of decreasing size all lined up on a board the jester brought out and hug on the wall.   
“Our Champion will demonstrate his speed and accuracy against these targets,” the wizard intoned. “Notice that the size of these targets grows ever smaller until the last which is only the size of a quarter. Watch as Sir Summers strikes each one in the exact center!”  
Clint stepped up and waved his bow at the crowd, not as dramatic as when he’d performed as Hawkeye, but still playing to the crowd. Then he turned to the targets. He could shoot up to three arrows at once and hit his targets, but that had seemed like over kill so he hadn’t mentioned it. Instead he took a deep breath to center himself and let his hand drop to the quiver at his hip. He fired each arrow as quickly as possible, hitting each target in succession until he reached the tiny slip of paper at the end. The angle at that point threw him off a little, but he still hit inside the target. He shook his head to clear it and turned to wave at the audience. Two of the fair employees grabbed the board and carried it over to the edge of the field to let people see closer up.   
Amid the cheers, the jester, Jason, and his partner, Tim, prepared for the juggling act. Clint was excited for this trick. The five of them had practiced as much as they could to get the timing right. The jugglers were quite talented, and Clint thought they’d have been welcome at the circus but they had normal jobs outside the fair. Jason was a physics professor and Tim was an accountant, though they met most weekends to practice all sorts of tricks. Clint appreciated seeing “normal people” enjoying the sorts of things that he had done for a living.   
They kept the trick pretty simple. Tim and Jason would juggle only six small beanbags of three different colors, tossing the bags back and forth only one at a time to give the archer a chance to pin the bean bag to the wall. Jack had been supportive, insisting that it wouldn’t matter if they missed as long as they had fun. Clint of course, never missed. Richard usually hit his targets in practice, though he couldn’t always hit them right to pin them to the wall, instead knocking them to the ground. Theodor was actually pretty good, but refused to do more than a few practice runs. Honestly, it pissed Clint off how dismissive the jerk was. Everyone else was just having fun and showing off a really cool sport, but Theo just turned his nose up at the whole thing. Clint didn’t know why the guy even bothered to show up if he didn’t like it so much.   
The archers lined up and pulled out their brightly fletched arrows. Clint had called purple and no one argued considering he was covered in the color. Richard had green and Theodor had orange. Jack called for silence so the archers could concentrate and a hush fell over the crowd. Clint could hear the wind and even some bird song. He took a deep breath and waited for the jugglers. As agreed, they started with a couple tricks, tossing the beanbags fast and frequently to get the crowd’s attention before they slowed down and tossed one purple bag in a slow gentle arc. Clint nailed it to the wall. The jesters picked up the pace for a minute again while the crowd cheered. When things settled down they repeated the cycle with a green bag. Richard hit it but didn’t pin it to the wall. The crowd still went wild. They repeated the routine for Theo who pinned his target neatly. At Clint’s turn, he hit his bag again, pinning it right above his first. Richard pinned his last target, making the big man cheer and dance for a moment. Theo missed his last beanbag completely, but since Jason hadn’t planned to catch it anyway, the bag still fell to the ground. No one seemed to care as people jumped up to cheer for the archers.  
Next was Richard’s trick with the mirror. Clint held the little hand mirror for him and cheered with the crowd when Richard hit in the black all three times. The teacher was a really easy going guy that Clint really liked. Maybe if Clint’s teachers had been like Richard, the teen would have put more effort into keeping up with his lessons.  
Finally it was time for the paint balloons. Two big men carried out a large white poster board covered in water balloons filled with different colored paints. The archers lined up and when the wizard gave the signal, with the king’s permission, they fired arrows as fast as they could at the balloons, making them explode, covering the board and grass in a shower of bright colors. Clint smirked to himself as he settled into the rhythm. Richard and Theo were both hitting the board okay, and did manage to hit the balloons more times than not, but each arrow from Clint’s bow resulted in a splash of color. It made him a little smug.   
The whole show was more fun than the circus because here he wasn’t wearing a mask. No one in the audience thought he was a fake, using tricks to make his arrows hit. That had been a problem before. One time a stuck up college kid, a real bookish type, had cornered Clint after a show and explained in great detail how he was cheating with magnets, mirrors, and angles. It had only been Clint’s second solo show and it had hurt for someone to doubt how hard he had worked to get good enough to even be considered for a slot. Barney had never gotten his own turn in the ring, but Clint had after hours and days of nonstop practice. Now, at a Renaissance fair in Colorado, people were cheering for him, for his skill, not as an act they paid for, not as a circus freak, but him as a person. It was intoxicating and more than a little frightening. He couldn’t hide behind the mask or the shadows of the tent. Suddenly, it was all too much and he kind of zoned out as they finished and moved to bow to the audience and the royal pavilion. A couple of the ladies tossed their handkerchiefs and Clint regained his internal balance enough to catch one and bring it to his lips with a cheeky wink. He wasn’t sure whose it was, but they all giggled and flapped their fans in front of their faces so Clint figured it doesn’t matter. Finally, the Wizard sent them back to their families with a wave and a hearty thank you.   
When Clint turned to leave, finally feeling the weight of a full day, Jack caught his arm. “Just a minute,” the old man said. He pulled out a business card. Jack’s name and number are on one side in fancy writing with the fair’s logo on the other. “Take this. If you’re around here next year, give me a call and I’ll save you a place in the contest or whatever you want. Thank you for everything. You made this year very special.”  
Clint felt his face heat up and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It was nothing,” he tried to brush it off. “I just like archery and needed some extra cash, ya know? But I had a lot of fun. This has been the best day of my life, seriously.”  
“Well, be that as it may, thank you,” Jack said earnestly, and then his voice rose back to his squeaky wizard voice. “I wish you well, young traveler. Never hesitate to call on the great wizard, Jack!” He left after a final pat on the back, laughing quietly to himself.   
Clint shook his head as he made his way back to Logan and the Corduroy family. Wendy immediately gave him a big hug and all her little brothers wanted a high-five. Dan huffed and complemented him on “a very manly display”. Clint ate up the attention, which was much easier to accept one on one than the crowd had been, and looked over to see Logan’s reaction.   
“Good shooting, hawk,” Logan said with a nod and a grin. “Better than the circus.”  
Clint beamed and found a spot on the grass, surrounded by friends to watch the rest of the jousting show. It was pretty interesting, watching the men control the long lances as they raced across the field on horseback. They cheered for the white knight as he stood up for honor and country against vile dark knight who jeered at the crowd and insulted the king. Clint and Logan exchanged looks when the knights abandoned their lances to fight on foot with their swords. Their choreography wasn’t terrible but Clint rolled his eyes at the slow telegraphed moves that would be ridiculous in a real fight.   
By the end of it, Clint was a little hoarse and yawning. Two of Wendy’s brothers had fallen asleep, not even stirring when Dan and Wendy picked them up. Dan declared it time to go and told Wendy to say good bye. It was really awkward trying to say good bye with everyone watching.  
Wendy avoided looking at Clint as she kicked the ground a little. “Hey, thanks for today. I thought this thing was going to be kinda lame, but it was fun.”  
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Clint said, avoiding looking at her too. “Today has been the greatest and meeting you was really cool. Thanks for cheering me on and stuff.”  
Wendy laughed. “Gosh, listen to us. We sound like nerds.” She stuck out the hand that wasn’t holding up her little brother. “Good bye Francis. It was a blast.”  
She was probably expecting him to shake her hand, but they were at a Ren fair so he took it and bowed over it, planting a gallant kiss on her knuckles. “It was. Good bye, Wendy.”  
Wendy laughed again, waking up her brother who growled at her before settling back down. “See you around. If you’re ever in Oregon, look me up.”  
“Will do,” Clint promised but he knew that she knew that they would probably never see each other again. It was sad, but that was life and Clint was more than used to saying good bye from all the years traveling with the circus. He had learned to enjoy the time he had and not dwell on it, mostly.  
Logan stood next to him as he waved at Wendy as she and her family tromped up the hill, heading to the exit. “You did good, bub,” the mutant said, placing a hand on the archer’s shoulder. “She was a good kid.”  
“Yeah,” Clint agreed, watching her a little wistfully. Then he shook himself. “I don’t want today to end,” he admitted softly. “Not just because of Wendy,” he groaned when Logan raised an eyebrow. “It’s just, today was so awesome. How could anything compare to this?”  
Logan laughed. “You’re young,” the old man teased gently. “Give it time, you’ll have more days like this. I promise.”  
Clint narrowed his eyes at his guardian. “How do you know?”   
“Because I’ll make sure of it. You’ve had a hard life so far, but give me a chance, and I’ll try to make up for it. It doesn’t have to be all fighting and espionage. Learn to be a kid.”  
“Wow, that makes you sound so old,” Clint teased. But he grabbed his bow and the various bags they had accumulated to get ready to go. “But all that age must give you some wisdom, right? I guess I’ll just take your word for it.”  
“Keep it up, short stack and you’re walking back to the hotel,” Logan growled softly, but the twinkle in his eye belied his tone.   
They kept up the back and forth banter as the pair made their own way back to the entrance, now exit, of the fair. It was surprising how easy it was to joke with the other man. Clint snarked at his mentors and the other adults at the circus, but it had never felt this easy and harmless. Clint decided not to think about why that was right now, when he was so happy and relaxed. He yawned as they started walking through the parking lot to the bike and laughed when Logan teased him about needing a bedtime.  
Clint started to retort when Logan raised a hand, stopping suddenly. Clint immediately went on alert, scanning the area for danger. They were at the far end of the parking lot, where the open field butted up against a line of trees. Logan had picked the area despite the availability of closer parking because it was so remote. There were still cars parked around, but no one was coming this way at the moment.   
“Come on out, boys,” Logan said sharply.  
The jerk brothers stepped out from behind two cars. “Well, there goes our ambush,” Theodor Wilcox said as he approached the pair from the front, letting his brothers circle around behind them. “But I guess it will be more fun this way.”  
Clint glanced at Logan, expecting him to be angry at the attack but the man was surprisingly calm. He put down the bags he was carrying and crossed his arms. Clint copied the older man, though he kept a hold of his bow, and gave the three bullies and unimpressed look.  
“We’re going to beat your ass, Francis,” Thomas, the youngest jerk brother spat, twisting Clint’s name into an insult. Considering how Clint already felt about his middle name, the hit missed the mark and he just sneered at the older boy.  
“We’re going to finish what we started earlier for making fools of us,” Tim added angrily.   
Logan shot a look at Clint at that comment. The teen just shrugged, just now remembering that he hadn’t told Logan about the scuffle that Fury had broken up. He turned to the bullies. “The only ones making fools of you are yourselves, stupid,” he shot back. Beside him, Logan sighed.  
Thomas glared, speechless and raised a fist, but Theodor waved him down. The boy didn’t look happy but he followed his brother’s lead. “Tell you what,” the oldest Wilcox said pleasantly, “If you give us your winnings and any other money you have on you, we’ll leave you and your freaky guardian alone. No hard feelings.” His tone turned icy and his expression hardened. “If you refuse, we’ll beat the shit out of you and take your money anyway. Then we’ll call the cops. I bet they’d be real interested in a couple of muties running around like normal people.”   
Clint saw red for an instant and clenched his jaw so hard it ached to keep from screaming at the man. He really hated bullies like this; the ones who picked on anyone they thought was weaker than them, just so they could turn around and convince the authorities that the victim deserved it. He checked Logan’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. The mutant hadn’t moved. He didn’t look angry, just resigned. He probably had to deal with nonsense like this all the time. Clint got his temper under control. If Logan could deal with the trash talk, so would he.  
The brothers, who were all taller than Logan and quite muscular, were obviously used to getting their way and didn’t know what to do when their victims weren’t intimidated. Tim was the first to get edgy.  
“Theo,” the middle brother whined, “quit stalling and let us at these freaks. I don’t care about the money, I just want to show the kid that he’s not so hot.”  
“Excuse me,” Clint said with a smirk, “I am totally hot stuff. Wendy seemed to think so.” Then, because he could never keep his mouth shut, he added, “Too bad she thought you were an eyesore.”  
Thomas snarled at him and leaped forward, swinging a fist at Clint. The younger archer dodged, which unfortunately put Logan in the jerk’s path. This didn’t stop Tommy, who apparently thought that one target was as good as the next. He swung at Logan with the intent to break the small man’s jaw. If the hit had landed, he would have shattered his hand, but Logan didn’t give him a chance. He grabbed the boy’s arm and twisted it behind him and lifted it up so Tommy had to stand on his tiptoes to avoid breaking his wrist.   
“Ow, ow, ow, damn it,” he cursed. “Let me go, you freak!”  
Logan growled deep in his chest and the boy stilled, his eyes wide as he realized they might have bitten off more than they could chew.   
Tim, however, hadn’t come to the same conclusion. He rushed Logan, his fists up in a sloppy boxing stance. “Let go of my brother, you piece of shit!” he shouted as he sent out his fists in a one-two jab.   
Logan let one fist hit his shoulder, but caught the other in his free hand. Tim had a split second to recognize his mistake. Then, in a whirl of limbs that even Clint couldn’t follow, all three brawlers went down in a heap with Logan as the obvious victor. He had Tim pinned in the grass with one knee in the young man’s back, leaving his hands free. He used one hand to hold Timmy on his knees with his arm still pinned behind his back. With other hand, Logan pulled his cigar out of mouth to puff on it.  
“My hands are full,” the old fighter said calmly, “so why don’t you deal with the last one. I’ll keep these two out of the way.”  
Theo was livid, his face actually turning an interesting shade of red. Clint however was staring at Logan in surprise, his mind spinning. Why was Logan telling him to fight? The first time they met, Logan was breaking up a fight and he had insisted that Clint avoid trouble at the fair. Had he changed his mind because of what the jerks had said? Clint mentally shook his head. No, the mutant was as calm as ever, keeping both brothers pinned without effort, though Tim looked like he was having a little trouble breathing. Then Logan raised an eyebrow and jerked his chin at the eldest bully.   
“He’s all yours, show him what you can do even without a bow,” Logan elaborated and suddenly Clint understood. He was floored by the realization that he man trusted Clint to fight his own battles, and now that it was just one against one, it would be fair.   
With a cocky grin, Clint carefully put his unstrung bow out of the way. He needed to find a case for Princess, he thought. He didn’t like leaving her laying in the dirt, she deserved better. He dismissed the irrelevant thoughts as he turned to face his opponent. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head. “Thanks, Logan,” he said to his guardian, who nodded in understanding. “Are you ready?” he asked the jerk, who had turned to a purple that even Clint wouldn’t like.  
“You little bastard,” the college boy shouted as he flung himself at Clint. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you will never forget. I’m going to break your arms so you never shoot again.” He swung at Clint, and despite his rage, the young man had surprisingly good form. Clint guessed that he took classes at his fancy college, and was probably a bully there too.   
Clint ducked under the first punch and hit the bigger man in the stomach. Theo coughed as the air was forced from his body. Clint had never had the benefit of formal training, had never practiced fighting like he did for archery or swordsmanship. But he had learned all he needed from his rough life. He picked up the basics pretty quickly at the orphanage where his small size had left him open to all kinds of abuse. He refined those skills at the circus, fighting for his place amongst the roustabouts and other followers. Barney had taught him a lot a first, but after Jacques tapped Clint for apprenticeship, those lessons had dried up. So, Clint picked up different styles watching the adults fight for money, drink or women. He learned every dirty trick and cheap shot he could and now he brought those lessons to the fore.   
Once Theo caught his breath a little, he swung hard at Clint, who dodged under again and nailed him right in the solar plexus. Theo’s eyes bugged as he lost his breath again, but they blazed with fury as he tried to swing at Clint even as his body wanted to curl up.   
“Don’t let him catch a’hold of ya,” Logan pointed out from his spot on the sideline.  
Clint resisted rolling his eyes as he backed away from the bully’s thrashing. Once he was out of reach, Theo gave in to bending over and clutching his chest. Clint took the opportunity to step forward and, using his momentum, nailed him hard in the face with a strong right that sent the bigger man off his feet, though he was already wobbly from lack of air. Clint might be small for his age, but he had built up considerable strength from all the hours he spent with his bow. The college boy snarled and kicked out at Clint, aiming for the boy’s knees, but Clint was too fast and agile from his practice on the trapeze. He considered kicking the jerk in the crotch, but decided to take the high road with Logan watching him.   
“You should stay down,” Clint said, a little more out of breath than he expected. His heart was pounding from the adrenaline but his hands were steady when he brought them up in a defensive position.  
Theo clambered to his feet and spat blood from where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek. “You are asking for it, brat,” he tried to snarl, but it came out as more of a gasp.   
The bully charged at his target, now swinging with both hands. Clint backed up as much as he could, but he ran into a parked car. He saw the fist coming and tried to move, but it clipped him on the side of the head hard enough to make him see stars. Archery had obviously been good to Theo’s upper body too.   
Clint threw himself to the side, rolling until he could get to his feet again, and turned to face his opponent. Theo still couldn’t catch his breath and he was pissed. But he didn’t have the breath to go chasing after Clint. If he’d been alone, this would be where Clint hightailed it and hid until the aggressor forgot about him. But he wasn’t and Logan was watching. The teen wracked his brain for an idea of how to finish this. It didn’t look like Theo was willing to back off anytime soon.   
“Stop messing around and get that kid!” Tim shouted from under Logan.  
The mutant wasn’t amused by his captive’s outburst and leaned a little harder on the young man’s back. “Aim for his jaw,” Logan advised. He tapped the place he meant with a finger on his own face.  
Clint nodded. He’d seen men go down from shots like that with dislocated or even broken jaws. He waited until Theo came at him, swinging wildly. He dodged inside the other man’s reach and swung hard with his left into the bully’s stomach. Theo folded like a collapsed tent and Clint swung his right into the man’s jaw, hitting the exact spot Logan had indicated. He was Hawkeye, he never missed.   
There was a sharp pop and Theo’s jaw slid out of its socket. The oldest Wilcox howled and crumpled to the ground holding his face. He tried to curse but all that came out were garbled sounds.   
Clint backed up, a little horrified of what he had done. He was used to being pushed around, used to being on the other side of the whimpers. He wasn’t sure he liked this side. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
“Good job,” Logan complemented him. Behind them, Tim and Thomas looked frozen as they stared at their brother moaning on the ground. Logan ignored all of them as he took Clint’s hand and examined it for damage. “Next time, keep your wrist straighter. You’re lucky you didn’t snap your wrist. We’ll work on that.”  
Clint blinked at him, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline faded. “Huh?” he huffed.   
“You did good,” Logan repeated, turning Clint so they were face to face. “You fought fair, fought smart, and protected yourself. Now maybe these bullies will learn to be more careful who they pick on.” He huffed and looked over to where the younger brothers were finally helping Theo to his feet. “Nah, people like them don’t learn. Anyway,” he went over to pick up their stuff. It was kind of astounding how much they had acquired in a day. “Let’s get goin’. It’ll be real late before we get back to our hotel. We’ll pick someplace on the way to stop and eat.”  
Clint rubbed his stomach which was churning uncomfortably. “I think I’m good for now,” he admitted sheepishly. “Too much junk food.”  
Logan nodded and led the way to the bike. Clint stole another glance at the Wilcox brothers, watching them stumble away with their tails between their legs. Then he turned away, decisively giving them no more mind. Instead he followed his new guardian and mentor, already thinking of the future.  
“Could you teach me that move you used?” the teen asked, hurrying to catch up.  
Logan just laughed.


	9. Chapter 9-Back on the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the road again, can't wait to get on the road again... That song is stuck in my head now.  
> Anyway, onward and upward. Time for the pair to move on to the next adventure and for a little from Logan's point of view. Hope you enjoy!

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
The morning after the Renaissance Fair, Logan woke up early as usual. Outside the sun had just started to peek over the mountain tops. Quietly, so as not to wake up his new ward, he pulled on his boots, grabbed his hat and slipped out. Once outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air. Without a sound, the mutant made a bee-line for the trees disappearing into the forest surrounding the little hotel. There were more people here than the last time he’d been through the area, but he avoided the houses without too much trouble until he reached an area that had not been claimed yet. He ghosted through the trees, just enjoying the wild feel of the mountains. This wasn’t his beloved Canadian Wilderness, but the Colorado Rockies were close enough to make him feel at home. He found a little creek and sat down, heedless of the dew soaking through his jeans, and listened to the burble of the water.  
Yesterday had been a bit of a revelation, Logan reflected. Clint had certainly had fun and after a while, so had Logan. Clint probably hadn’t gotten a chance to enjoy himself so innocently in much too long, if he ever had. The boy’s excitement was infectious and Logan had helped it along where he could; getting the kid to try different foods and buying him things. The hat was a joke, but the rest of the gear that Logan splurged on was functional. The kid just looked happiest in purple and once he was fully outfitted he looked like one of the kids from the school, a hero in the making. The young archer’s exuberance wasn’t the surprise, however. That happened while Logan had been talking with Fury and he realized how little he knew about Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. For all of the talking the kid did, it seemed like he hadn’t said anything.  
That is not to say Logan was completely in the dark about his new ward. He knew Clint had perfect aim; that he liked dogs of any shape and size; that he loved almost any shade of purple. Logan knew the archer was brave, strong and unusually kind. Clint hated mornings and green vegetables, though he always cleaned his plate. Logan knew what kind of person Clint was and that was enough for him. It’s not like Wolverine could judge someone on their past when he could barely remember his own.  
Still, while Logan knew Clint had been abused, he didn’t know by whom (though he did have his suspicions). He didn’t know how Clint joined the circus. He knew a little about the kid’s older brother but nothing about the rest of his family. The boy was only 14, there should not be this many holes in his history. Agent Coulson had not been amused by the number of questions that Logan couldn’t answer. Every time Logan said, “I don’t know,” or “Never asked”, the straight laced agent had let out a little disappointed sigh as he made a note in the file. The man should have been a principal. He’d guilt every student into passing with that damn sigh.  
The questions had been endless, too. Logan tensed at the memory, clenching his fists hard enough to almost send out his claws. How old is the boy? Where was he born? What happened to his parents? Where is his brother now? Why did Clint and his brother run away from the system? How did they join the circus? Who were his mentors? What did they teach him? What formal schooling did Clint have?  
That last one made Logan pause in his recollections. Clint would need an education. Logan knew he wasn’t the best teacher for the basics like reading and math, but he did have connections. Connections who were probably wondering where he was. He hadn’t checked in with the school since before Montana almost two weeks ago. Summers probably had his panties in a twist, which wasn’t an incentive to call, really, but others would be worried. Maybe the professor would have an idea about how to get the kid up to date on his education without sending him to school. Settling down and enrolling Clint in school was not an option right now. Fury never said it, but he was worried about his people harassing Logan and hunting Clint. Something was rotten in SHIELD and until Fury could find it, Clint was not safe.  
Logan groaned and threw his head back, startling a doe and her fawn that had come to drink from his creek. He smiled as they bounded away, tails held high is alarm. That was another issue to address. SHIELD had a conditional hands-off policy for mutants because Fury didn’t want to get mired down in the politics of it. It was kind of a “don’t bother me, I won’t bother you” thing. Taking Clint to Professor Xavier while SHIELD is hunting the boy could disrupt that and bring unwanted attention to the school. Besides, while he’d given Clint the bare bones about himself, he had not mentioned that he was a member of the X-men. He should probably do that.  
“What did I get myself into?” Logan growled to himself. He rolled to his feet, a plan already forming. 

Back at the hotel, Clint hadn’t moved. The boy liked curling up in a pile of blankets like he was nesting when he had the opportunity. He’d even stolen the comforter from Logan’s bed. Only the very top of the archer’s head was visible and Logan reached over the ruffle the messy blond hair to start waking the kid up.  
Clint groaned as he picked his head up and made a betrayed sound at the bright light streaming through the window. “Aw, morning, no,” he whined before trying to burying himself back in his nest.  
If the kid wasn’t so cute, Logan would have gotten annoyed with this routine ages ago. “Come on, bub,” Logan pressed, pulling a layer of blanket off the heap. It uncovered Clint’s head and one foot. “Time to get up. Remember, this place has a decent complimentary breakfast, but we have to get it now.” He leaned over and whispered, “They have coffee.”  
Clint groaned but started to untangle himself from his nest. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But it better be,” he yawned loudly, “better be worth it.”  
They went over to the main office where management had laid out a continental breakfast of fruit, pastries, and cereal. Juice and milk were cooling in a mini fridge while a coffeemaker happily dripped the dark liquid. Clint made straight for the coffee, filling a big travel cup before adding his usual milk and sugar. He took a long sip before looking up and grinning at Logan. Now, the brat was awake. Logan shook his head and moved to make his own cup and snag a bowl of fruit. He preferred protein for breakfast, but his body wasn’t picky about what he put in it.  
Clint grabbed a bowl of sugary cereal, a bowl of fruit, two pastries and a glass of juice. Somehow he balanced the whole lot and made it to the table Logan claimed in the corner without mishap. But he forgot a spoon so he rushed to get one and tripped over a chair and face-planted.  
Logan ran a hand over his face. This kid was going to be the death of him. He got up and helped the kid to his feet while Clint glared at the chair like it had insulted him. “Slow down, Hawk,” Logan admonished. “Ya don’t have to do everything at breakneck speed or you’re liable to really break your neck. Now come sit down.”  
Logan snagged a copy of the local paper and started reading through it while Clint got his spoon and dug into his breakfast. Experience had taught Logan to wait until the boy was at least half way through breakfast before attempting conversation, which suited him because he preferred reading the paper.  
After several minutes, Clint finally came up for air. “So where were you this morning?” he asked around a bite of cantaloupe.  
“I went for a walk,” Logan answered, turning the page of the paper. The local tourist trade was on the rise, but it was driving the housing market up. No mention of mutants, which was nice. “I wanted to clear my head and think about a few things.”  
“Like what?” Clint said around a bite of watermelon.  
Logan lowered his paper to glare at the boy. “Stop talkin’ with your mouth full,” he chided. He winced at how that made him sound, but didn’t let it show. The kid needed to learn some manners and Logan was responsible for him. “About us, our situation.”  
Clint stilled, suddenly nervous. He had a tendency to do that, switch from eager to nervous at the drop of a hat. The teen poked at his last piece of watermelon. “Second thoughts?” he asked carefully, avoiding Logan’s eyes.  
The mutant sighed and folded his paper. “No, Clint, I was not having second thoughts. I was thinking of our next move and how to get to know each other better.” Clint perked up hopefully. Logan felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. “We need to share more, which isn’t really my forte, but if you’re willin’ we can try.”  
Clint nodded eagerly. “I was thinking about that too. Fury made me tell him about my history and I remembered that I haven’t told you that much. I figured you deserve it more than he does.”  
Logan nodded. “That’d be good start. We don’t have to do it now, but when you’re ready I’d like to hear all of it. I was also thinking of checking in with my team.”  
“Your new team?” Clint asked. This time he made a point of finishing his bite of pastry before speaking. “You haven’t talked about them.”  
“That’s my side of the sharing,” Logan said with a nod. “They need to know what’s going on and I was hoping they might be able to help with your schooling.”  
“Aw, school?” Clint groaned.  
“Yes,” Logan nodded seriously. “Education is important. I don’t care about high school diplomas or that nonsense but you should never refuse to learn.”  
Clint crossed his arms and slouched in his chair to glare at his mutant guardian, but he didn’t argue so Logan counted it as a win. They finished breakfast and went back to their room.  
Clint sat on his bed, in the middle of the tangle of blankets, and looked expectantly at Logan. “So…” he said archly.  
Logan kicked off his boots and sat on his own bed. “So, I guess I’ll start.”  
Clint bounced in place. “Yep.”  
“After the drama in Canada, I was recruited by a bald man in a wheelchair,” Logan began. “His name was Professor Charles Xavier and he promised to help me if I joined his school. That is how I became a member of the X-men.” He was skimming over a lot with those few words, put it got the point across. Story telling wasn’t his thing.  
“What?” Clint exclaimed. “Even I’ve heard of them. They are so cool! Which one are you?”  
Logan huffed a laugh. The kid kept surprising him. “I’m the Wolverine.”  
Clint laughed until he fell over. Before Logan could be insulted, Clint spoke up with a grin. “No way! The papers do not do you justice! The last article I read called the Wolverine a short feral animal who’s only use to the team was as a projectile.” Logan growled softly, remembering that hack piece. “I knew it was junk anyway, but because I know my projectiles I figured you had to be really cool. It’s hard to throw a living person. It takes skill on both sides. I mean, the Human Cannonball is a tough job. I did it once on a dare.”  
“It’s called the fast ball special,” Logan admitted, impressed that the kid understood.  
“Awesome,” Clint repeated. “Anyway, continue.” He waved his hand dramatically in Logan’s direction.  
“I’m going to call them and tell them were we are and a little about you. We can’t go to the school right now because of SHIELD and whoever is after you, but I should keep them informed,” Logan explained as succinctly as possible. “We’ll do what we did with Fury. I’ll talk to them and you can listen. Though you might hear me getting my ass chewed because our team leader is,” he thought about how best to describe Summers, “Uptight. He doesn’t appreciate me disappearing.”  
Clint grinned but stayed quiet as he moved to sit behind Logan on the man’s bed so he could hear. When he was settled, he tilted his head expectantly.  
Logan hadn’t planned to call right this minute, but he gave in and dialed the number. The phone rang a few times before a man answered; his voice calming and educated. “Logan, it’s good to hear from you.”  
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten Chuck’s trick of knowing who was on the phone. “Hey, Professor,” he said politely, waving off Clint’s curious look. “How’s the school?”  
“We’re flourishing, I’m pleased to say. The students are coming along wonderfully.”  
“And the team?” Logan pressed.  
There was a pause as the telepath considered his answer. “We’ve missed you, Logan. I was hoping that this call would be about your return.”  
“Something came up,” Logan answered. He looked at Clint who was watching him closely. There was no question of how the boy got the name Hawkeye. “I picked up a stray,” he said, winking at Clint when the boy bristled.  
“Really,” Charles said with polite interest. “Tell me more.”  
Logan smiled. He had also forgotten how easy it was to talk to the other man. “I found this kid at a circus. He’s being hunted by SHIELD, though Director Fury had no idea about it. I talked to Nick, and he’s lookin’ into the situation, but in the meantime I need to keep the kid safe.”  
“By all means, bring him here,” Charles insisted. “We will always welcome new students.”  
“That’s the thing, Chuck,” Logan said. “I don’t want to bring the heat down on you, so we should stay away. And,” he paused, uncertain. “And he’s human. No powers.”  
“Oh, I see,” Charles acknowledged. “If he is in trouble, he would still be welcome here, Logan. We will not discriminate against a child in need,” he chided gently.  
Behind him, Clint scoffed but Logan shook his head to quiet him. “I know, Chuck, but the bigger issue is SHIELD. I don’t like it and I’m not going to put the school at risk, so we’re going to stay away. The problem is that Clint is 14 with almost no formal schooling. That is what I could use some help with.”  
“Is that so,” Charles said. “Well, I’m certain we can come up with something, but I can’t make any arrangements over the phone.”  
Logan sighed. “I figured. So what do you suggest?”  
“The perfect solution would be to meet the boy in person, but since you will not return here and I cannot leave at the moment, I’ll have to send an intermediary to you.” Logan waited for him to continue, letting the silence build until Charles gave in. “I think I’ll send Storm. She can make an accurate assessment of the boy’s abilities and we will derive a teaching plan from there. You will need to work with him, as well Logan.” Logan grunted in agreement, and Charles laughed. “I know that you would prefer to hand off that particular burden, but if you are serious about taking care of this boy, you need to take responsibility.”  
It was amazing how Chuck could make him feel like a child, despite how much older Logan was than the professor. “I’m workin’ on it, Chuck. Fury is helping me put through the paperwork to be his legal guardian, so I’m committed now.”  
“Very good,” Charles said approvingly. “What are your plans, moving forward? If you turn on your com device and locator, I can send Storm to you in the next few days.”  
Logan thought about it. He had the locator in his bag, but he had his reasons why he kept it turned off and only one of them was to annoy the team leader. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” he admitted. “Shield is compromised and who knows what other skeletons are hiding in their closets. We’re going to keep moving, but how about I call ya when we settle in someplace for a few days.”  
“I’ll bow to your superior experience in this case, Logan,” Charles agreed. “You know you can call anytime.”  
“Thanks,” Logan said honestly.  
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Charles said, humor evident in his tone. “Farewell until another time, my friend.”  
“Good bye, Chuck,” Logan chuckled and gently hung up the phone. He leaned back, almost bumping against Clint who had been hovering over his shoulder for the whole conversation.  
“Well?” the boy asked, backing off to give the man his space. “On a scale of shit to yippee, how did that go?”  
Logan shot a look at the kid for his ranking scale, but answered anyway. “Well, it went better than I expected.”  
“What were you expecting?” Clint said, tilting his head like a dog.  
“Confrontation, maybe,” Logan said reaching over to ruffle the kid’s hair. Someday, he’d get the kid to stop flinching from friendly gestures. “More questions, definitely. We’re lucky we got the Professor. Even when he’s not reading your mind, he seems to know more than you tell him. Summers would have kept me on the phone for hours.”  
Clint made a face. “So what’s next?”  
“We get moving,” Logan said, getting up and starting to put his gear in order. It didn’t take much. “There is a SHIELD base in Oklahoma that we need to stop by, and then we keep moving east.”  
“Why go to the base?” Clint asked. He followed Logan’s lead and started stuffing his clothes into his new bags.  
Logan snatched the bag out of Clint’s hand and dumped it on the bed. “If you fold or roll them, you can fit more,” he growled before answering the question in a calmer voice. “Fury promised me a truck and trailer, but we have to pick the damn thing up.”  
“And we have to go to a base in Oklahoma for it?” Clint asked, incredulous.  
“Don’t underestimate Fury, bub,” Logan said as he checked under the bed. He found Clint’s boots, two different socks, a t-shirt, a throwing knife, and several granola bars. He grabbed it all, ignoring Clint’s blush at him finding the kid’s food stash. “He probably has more than one or even two reasons to send us to that particular base. We have a week before we’re expected, though, so we’ll take our time.”  
“It’s not that far right?” Clint asked, face screwed up as he tried to remember his geography. “It’s not going to take a week to get there, right?”  
“Nah,” Logan agreed. “But we’re not heading straight there. We’ll circle around Kansas for a few days to throw anyone off.”  
Clint made another face, like he smelled something rotten. “Why Kansas?” he asked as he finished shoving the rest of his stuff in his bags. They bulged a little and he had to sit on one to get it to zip.  
Logan laughed. “It’s not my first choice either, bub, but that’s the point. Plus it’s easy to see someone coming up on ya.”  
Clint double checked the case that held both of his bows. It was a tight fit and he shoved a couple shirts between them to keep them apart, but it would work. “If you say so,” he grouched. “Still not excited to see Kansas.”  
Logan walked around the bed to ruffle the boy’s blond hair. “Don’t worry. We’ve got nothing but time, so we’ll stop whenever we feel like it. Just try to enjoy the ride.”  
Clint brushed his guardian’s hand off, but he was smiling again and even bumped against Logan’s shoulder affectionately as he carried his bags outside. Logan watched as the boy balanced bags on one shoulder so he could open the door. They had a long road ahead, but Logan was feeling more confident about their success. 

\\\\\///\\\\\///

Getting back on the road was like a breath of fresh air to Logan. He never liked staying in one place too long. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable. The open road was second only to being lost in the wilderness. Logan usually traveled alone, taking the lone wolf thing to a whole new level. Having a teenager along for the ride was turning out to be a learning experience.  
First thing Logan learned on the road with Clint was that the boy was always hungry. This hadn’t been a problem at first, when they met. Clint was too shy to ask for anything and he was still a little freaked out with the whole running from a secret spy agency thing. Now, Clint was more comfortable with Logan and trusted him enough to ask for things, like stopping for a snack at almost every town they passed through. It turns out that teenage boys had black holes for stomachs, who knew?  
The next thing Logan learned, which he should have suspected from the beginning was that Clint loved dogs. The kid loved all dogs, regardless of size or temperament. And he wanted to pet every dang one he saw. The strays in back alleys were lured closer with hamburgers and hot dogs. The territorial farm dogs were lured with kissy noises until they gave into the kid’s patience and accepted a scratch behind the ear. Even the pampered purse dogs of rich old ladies were cooed over while the owner watched proudly. That wasn’t the worse part, though. The worst part was the brat wanted Logan to pet the dogs too. Logan liked animals, and most animals like him, but after the second little toy dog bit him, Logan put his foot down.  
“Aw, Logan, why?” Clint said sadly as he ran his fingers though a teacup poodle’s hair. The owner was a sweet woman in her late forties who doted on the little animal more than most people doted on their children. She had been ecstatic that Clint had wanted to pet her baby.  
“It’s going to bite me,” Logan said, glaring at the small dog. The thing had more perfume on than the woman.  
“Oh, come on, Mr. Sniggums, is harmless,” Clint cooed as he bumped noses with the thing.  
Logan rolled his eyes and gave in, reaching one finger out to stroke the dog’s ear.

Back on the road, Logan could feel Clint laughing behind his back as he leaned against Logan to cut down on the wind. Logan growled at the boy but it was lost in the sound of the bike. The mutant glared at the bright white bandage wrapped around his finger. Wolverine could run with wolves, but he couldn’t pet a poodle the size of his hand without getting bitten. The thing’s owner had been very apologetic claiming that “Mr. Sniggums” had never done something like that before. She was the one who tied the bandage while Clint watched, his face twitching with the attempt not to smile. Next time, Logan wouldn’t give in and try to pet the damn thing. It wouldn’t matter how big the kid’s eyes got.  
The third thing Logan learned while on the road with Clint was how dedicated the kid was to his chosen craft. Logan made a point of stopping once or even twice every day for Clint to practice. Abandoned barns, picnic areas, and in one case a silo provided targets and privacy for Clint to practice for an hour or two while Logan watched. Some of Clint’s commitment was for show, trying to prove to Logan that he was worth keeping. That rankled but the rest of Clint’s commitment was personal. He honestly wanted to stay at the top of his game, wanted to stay the best. Again, part of that was the kid’s low self-esteem, but most of it was a drive that Logan recognized as rare and worth encouraging. He’d had teammates who drove themselves as hard as Clint did, but they were few and far between. As much as the man drove Logan to distractions, Scott Summers was one of those people. In the right circumstances, Cyclops and Hawkeye would probably get along great, maybe. If Clint could control his mouth and Summers got the stick out of his ass. Some of the mutant kids at the school had that drive, the desire to be the best they could be, but most didn’t. It was Xavier and the other teachers’ job to guide them in that direction.  
As Logan watched Clint hit knot holes in the side of a dilapidated barn in the middle of a cornfield, which honestly didn’t make sense but it was convenient, he wondered what drove the archer. The kid was only 14. What had he seen that made him push so hard to be perfect? What had been done to him? Logan puffed on his cigar in agitation. Three days on the road and Clint hadn’t confided his past yet. Logan was patient, but until he knew what kind of demons the kid was hiding, he wouldn’t know how to fix it.  
The mutant finished his cigar and ground out the stub on his boot. “Come on circus boy, that’s enough for today,” he called out to Clint who was collecting his arrows. They had been here for an hour and half already. The kid’s arms must have been hurting.  
“Aw, already?” Clint groaned. “Let me go through one more set, please?”  
Logan shook his head. “Nope, let’s get movin’,” he said, already walking back to the bike. “Daylight’s a’ wastin’.”  
Clint jogged to catch up, pulling off his new gloves with his teeth. “Why? Where are we going next?” he mumbled around the leather.  
Logan shrugged. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But I was thinking of finding someplace to stay a couple days. Let the X-men visit before we go down to pick up the truck.”  
Clint nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck, which he usually did when he was nervous. “What are they like, the X-men?”  
“You know how crazy circus folk are?” Logan asked.  
“Yeah.”  
“The X-men are worse.”  
“Oh, come on,” Clint complained. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”  
“It tells you everything you need to know,” Logan argued as he helped Clint reattach the bow case to the back of the bike. “Think about it and we’ll talk more tonight.”  
Clint groaned loudly. “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly as he swung up on the bike. “At least it’ll distract me from all the boring. I’m so sick of hay bales and corn fields I could puke.”  
Logan shook his head as he climbed in front of Clint. He turned to give the boy a raised eyebrow until the blond got the hint and put his helmet on with an eye roll. Then they were back on the open road, looking for the next stop.


	10. Chapter 10 - Monsters in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Past child abuse and scarring. Clint has had a really rough childhood up to now and I tried not to pull punches. Gosh, this hurt to write. It made me cry; big ugly snotty tears. Arg. Just need to get through this, like lancing a wound. But it will get better. Just hang in there with me.  
> Thank you.

>>>=========>  
Kansas sucked. Clint hated the long stretches of nothing that bored him to tears. He hated the miles and miles of corn, wheat, and whatever else. He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Iowa, and his childhood home. The Barton farm had looked no different than any of the places that Logan and Clint had driven past the last couple days and it made Clint sick to think about. So he tried not to. He focused on petting every single dog he could and tried not to laugh when the poodle and Chihuahua bit Logan. He asked for snack breaks to distract himself from the memories of going hungry. He practiced until his arms shook to keep his head on straight.  
The worst part was that he was having fun riding with Logan. If he wasn’t such a head-case, this would have been amazing. It was every daydream he had ever had about living on the open road, though most of those had included his brother; at least they had until Barney left and he stopped having that kind of daydream. Logan and Clint had camped out one night and the old woodsman had pointed out constellations. Clint had had his own names for the stars and when he shared some of the stories behind them, Logan had burst out laughing. They agreed that the “Bumbling Elephant” was their mutual favorite. Last night was a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was three hours away, but the place seemed to do alright, at least it was clean. Clint fell asleep as soon has his head hit the pillow, since they had driven for hours all day and taken two breaks for Clint to practice. Clint had taken the chance to try out all three kinds of finger guards, which was his excuse for spending so much time with his bow. Everything conspired to ensure that Clint had little time to think and always slept deep and dreamlessly, which was his intention all along.  
Clint figured that if he could keep up this pace long enough he would overcome the queasy feeling that the miles of cornfields were giving him, or they would get out of the Midwest and it wouldn’t be a problem. He just needed to keep driving himself so he wouldn’t dwell on the past. He could do this.  
Problem was that tonight, they stopped early. A nice chain hotel outside a small town was just what Logan was looking for to stay a couple days, so they stopped and settled in. Dinner was pizza at the restaurant across the street. The sudden change in pace had Clint itching.  
“Um, I’m going to take my bow around back and practice some more,” Clint said after they returned to the room. “I saw some hay bales back there, so I won’t hurt anything.”  
“You sure?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Want me to join ya?”  
“Nah,” Clint brushed him off as nonchalantly as possible. He didn’t want Logan to see him like this. “I saw you eyeing that bar down the road. You can get a drink if you want.” Logan narrowed his eyes and Clint wondered if he oversold it. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I just need some time to myself, you know?” the archer admitted, looking away.  
“I was going to call the X-men tonight,” Logan said, still staring intently at the teen. Clint had to fight to keep from fidgeting. “Did you want to be here for that?”  
Clint thought about it. He didn’t like the idea of Logan talking about him behind his back, but he didn’t really want to listen to another phone call about him to a bunch of strangers. He felt like itching powder was in his skin, driving him to do something. “Nah,” he said again. “I’m just going to go shoot stuff then take a shower and go to bed. I’m wiped.”  
Logan didn’t look convinced but he didn’t argue. Clint liked that about the man. Clint knew he was a chatterbox, but Logan never felt the need to fill empty space with words. Sometimes that was just what Clint needed and Logan never questioned that. Barney had never gotten that. He always figured there was something wrong if Clint went quiet and he poked and prodded until Clint returned to “normal.” At least he did until he started ignoring Clint after Jacques tapped him, then he stopped caring about Clint’s mood. Arrg, he needed to stop thinking about the past. This time, now, with Logan, mattered and he should focus on not screwing up this chance. Logan waved a hand in acknowledgement as Clint grabbed his bow and ducked out the door like his tail was on fire.  
Clint had never been a fan of vandalism, so he checked with the desk clerk before dragging a couple hay bales over to a shed to set up a target. The young man at the desk had been encouraging and even printed out a target for Clint to stick on the bales. Once everything was set up, Clint started practicing. He lost himself in the draw and fire, draw and fire. He let the arrows’ rhythm release his tension with every twang of Princess’s string. At one point he saw Logan, distinct in his stature and cowboy hat, walking down the road to the bar. The archer ignored his guardian and just kept firing arrows until his paper target was completely demolished. After that, Clint returned to the empty hotel room, cared for his equipment and took a shower. He turned the water up as hot as he could stand and stood under the spray until his shoulders stopped aching. Alone for once, Clint didn’t bother bringing the change of clothes into the bathroom with him. He hated doing that really, because of how damp his clothes always felt after a hot shower, but he didn’t want Logan to see his scars. Not yet, maybe not ever, though he was staring to reconsider his opinion on that. Though, how can a man who CAN’T scar understand how the marks on Clint’s body made him feel?  
Clint left the bathroom, steam billowing into the empty room and fogging up the mirror over the sink. Clint avoided looking at his refection and quickly grabbed a shirt and loose pants for bed. His arms ached pleasantly and he clung to that feeling as he climbed in bed and pulled the blanket all around him so he was protected on all sides. He tried to fall asleep, but while he did doze a little he didn’t really fall asleep until Logan returned. Only then did the young archer relax enough to fall into a deep sleep. 

 

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Logan watched from the shadows as Clint manhandled the hay bales around to set up a target. Logan was worried about his young ward, which was an odd feeling that he wasn’t sure how to categorize. The call to the school had gone well and quickly. Professor Xavier had seemed distracted when he answered the phone, so Logan just reported his location and accepted the professor’s promise to send Storm as soon as possible. To be honest, Logan was a little disappointed. He could have used a little of Chuck’s insight on how to deal with Clint’s sudden distress.  
With Logan’s senses it was impossible to miss how anxious Clint was, but even with enhanced senses he couldn’t tell why. He hoped that he hadn’t done anything to upset the boy, a worry that intensified when Clint asked for time alone. So, he gave Clint what he said he wanted, hoping that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. After watching Clint practice for a while, he walked down to the bar for a drink.  
It was a nice bar, more of a restaurant than a place for heavy drinkers. A few drunks at the end of the bar were drinking their cares away as fast as the barkeep could refill their glasses, but for the most part it was quiet. Logan snagged a barstool and soon had his own glass that the man behind the counter kept full. The beer was good and no one objected to Logan’s cigar, so the Canadian settled in to enjoy himself for a spell. He didn’t take long, though. Despite his intentions to give Clint his space, Logan worried about the kid. After only an hour or two, Logan was starting to get restless. Normally he could stay until closing, but he decided to head back early. Besides, he reasoned to himself as he drowned the last of his beer and paid his tab, there wasn’t much excitement here anyway.  
Back in the room, Clint was already in bed. Logan discretely sniffed the air as he prepared for bed himself. The acrid smell of anxiety hung in the air and though Logan checked the room, he couldn’t figure out what could have triggered Clint.  
The boy’s breathing had finally evened out into sleep, so Logan tabled the issue for later. Tomorrow, he’d talk to the teen and get him to open up about the problem, whatever it was. For now, Logan would follow his ward’s example and get some shut-eye himself.

After only a short rest, Logan woke up from a sound sleep with a start. He jerked upright and let his claws out with a shnick. He scanned the room, trying to figure out what the danger was and what had awoken him. The room was thick with the smell of sweat tinged with fear and anxiety. A muffled cry in the other bed explained the smell’s source. Logan retracted his claws before getting to his feet and approaching the other occupant of the room.  
Clint was still asleep, but it was not a restful slumber. The boy thrashed in his tangle of blankets, his face pinched in distress. Tears seeped from his closed eyes and whimpers escaped his lips.  
As Logan reached over to try and wake him up, Clint cried out, “No, no, stop.” The words broke Logan’s heart. The boy sounded so scared and hopeless. It was like he was saying the words for himself because he wasn’t expecting the unknown assailant to ever stop, but couldn’t help but beg anyway. Logan had a couple reoccurring nightmares that had a similar feel. Unable to stand the sounds Clint was making, Logan grabbed his shoulders and shook the boy awake as gently as he could.  
Clint went still, his eyes snapping open as he broke from the nightmare. He gasped as he tried to force air into his lungs, even as he fought not to sob. He was only partly successful. Logan sat on the bed and pulled the child into a hug, not saying a word as Clint grabbed on like a drowning man to a life preserver.  
“Shh, shhh, it’s okay,” Logan said after a minute, after Clint gave in and started to cry into the man’s chest. “It’s okay, Clint. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”  
They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, though it was only about a 20 minutes or so. Logan just kept up a gentle rumble of reassurance while Clint cried himself out. Finally, though, Clint ran out of tears and pulled away. He ran an arm over his face, trying to scrub away the evidence of his tears. Logan shook his head sadly at the boy’s resilience and pride, but got up to get him a warm, damp washcloth to do a better job and maybe sooth the boy’s sore eyes.  
“Sorry,” Clint said as he rubbed the cloth over his eyes a little too hard.  
“What for?” Logan asked, taking the cloth back to the sink when Clint was done with it. When he came back to the bed, Clint had pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up into a ball.  
“For being such a wimp,” Clint mumbled into his knees.  
Logan scoffed. He sat down next to the boy and put his arm around him. “You had a nightmare, bub. That doesn’t make you a wimp. I get ‘em too, you know.”  
Clint shook his head, disbelieving. “Sorry I woke you,” he tried again.  
“Well, that happens,” Logan said gently. “I don’t mind. Hell, it’s better than how I usually react to nightmares.” He knocked his head against Clint’s to get the boy to look at him. When Clint looked up, Logan grinned and held up a hand, flexing to show his knuckles and a hint of the blades hidden within. “I think I’ve ruined more mattresses that way,” he teased. Clint huffed a little laugh; it wasn’t much but it was a start. “Do you want to talk about it?” Logan asked carefully.  
Clint shook his head, and said quietly. “It’s nothing.”  
Logan pressed, “Didn’t sound like nuthin’.” He wasn’t going to force the boy into anything, but he really didn’t want the boy to try and face this alone. They were a team now. He decided to say as much. “We’re a team, remember. We promised to be honest with each other.” He tapped his nose. “Besides, I can smell ya.”  
Clint hunched in on himself. “I’m just remembering stuff,” he admitted. “All this farm land is making me remember my dad’s farm.” Logan nodded but didn’t interrupt, waiting for Clint to continue in his own time. Clint glanced at his guardian out of the corner of his eye. “Do you have any scars?”  
Logan was surprised by the change of topic, but he had an idea where this was going and it made him sick. He shook his head, staring into the distance. “No, not the ones you mean; none that you can see. My healing factor takes care of all that. There are other scars though, ones that you can’t see. I think those are worse,” Logan explained honestly.  
Clint nodded and rested his forehead on his knees. “I do,” he admitted. “They are gross and I hate ‘em.”  
Logan didn’t know what to say to him, so he just squeezed Clint a little harder, and the distraught young man gave in and leaned against the mutant, taking what comfort he could.  
“My dad was a drunk,” Clint said quietly after a minute of silence. Logan didn’t say anything. He wanted Clint to let this out. “He knocked us around whenever he drank, which was always. Usually he used his hands, but sometimes,” he paused, leaning harder against Logan. After a moment he continued, “Sometimes, when he felt like putting in some extra effort, he’d get a belt.” He swallowed hard, like he was trying to stop a sob. “Those are the first scars I got.”  
Logan growled deep in his chest, vibrating both of them. “Clint, that wasn’t your fault. And your father is lucky that he’s beyond my reach or he’d be sporting six new holes.”  
Clint snorted. “He would have deserved it,” he said, finally perking up a little. He stayed quiet for a minute before apparently coming to a decision. He pulled away and snagged the bottom of his shirt. “Might as well get it over with. I mean, it’s not like a guy like you will be scared of a mess like this.” He said it with a laugh, but his hands shook as he pulled his shirt over his head. Without looking at Logan, Clint turned around to show his back, his shoulders hunched like he was expecting a blow.  
Logan’s night vision was pretty decent, but he still reached behind him to switch on the lamp before he looked over Clint’s back. The boy was right, it was not pretty. Old scars were layered over and over, leaving a web of pale marks all over his back. The oldest, like Clint said, were belt marks, but most of them didn’t look old enough to be from the father; meaning Clint had more than one person who had whipped him in his life. As horrible as they were, the belt marks didn’t make Logan see red. That was saved for the small circular burns from multiple cigarettes that were scattered over the boy’s shoulders like macabre freckles. Some of them were old, but a few were a bright pink of recent healing. Other evidence of recent abuse were thin, again in some cases still healing, cuts that Logan knew were from a sword. He’d seen cuts like that when he was in Japan after a man was beaten with the flat of a sword. Logan snarled at the thought of someone doing that to a young boy, let alone one as innocent as Clint.  
Clint flinched at the sound. “I know, it looks awful. Just goes to show how clumsy I can be, you know?”  
“What does that mean?” Logan growled. Clint flinched again, still not turning around to face his new guardian, the man he supposedly trusted to protect him. Logan took a deep breath and shoved the anger down into the pit of his stomach to deal with later. Clint needed him now and the kid was shook up enough that he wouldn’t be able to make the distinction between Logan being mad AT him or FOR him.  
Clint shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. “My dad was a bastard who beat us for no reason, and a couple of the adults at the foster homes were just plain sadistic, but most of the time it was punishment. I’ve pretty much always been a screw up. I mean, Barney tried to protect me and stop me from making mistakes, but you know how it is.”  
Logan chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “What about those cuts? They’re from a sword right?”  
Clint nodded. “But Jacques never hit me without a reason, you know? He and Buck were my mentors. They protected me and taught me, even when I messed up.” He finally turned around but didn’t look up at Logan. “I slacked off a lot or didn’t pay attention.” He was earnest and believed every word he said and it made Logan sick.  
“And the burns?”  
“Only if I really missed the target. They were reminders to never miss.”  
This time Logan bit his cheek until he could feel the burn of healing to keep from snarling again and scaring the kid. “Clint, look at me.” The boy curled up tighter so Logan reached out and gently lifted the kid’s chin so he had to meet Logan’s eyes. Tears were gathering in Clint’s eyes again and Logan sighed sadly. There was so much he needed to say and no idea how to get the kid to believe him. But he had to try for Clint’s sake. “You did not deserve that. You never deserved any of it because no one deserves that. You didn’t deserve that from your dad or your mentors. Things like that aren’t punishments, they are torture. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Clint?” The boy nodded against Logan’s fingers, the tears starting to run down his face. Logan was surprised to feel tears running from his eyes too. Damn it, he hated this. What was the point of being a hero, of saving the world when kids like Clint were being hurt like this. “Clint, everyone who hurt you was a bastard who deserves the end of my claws. Just thinking about it pisses me off. I want to hunt them all down and show them what it feels like.”  
Clint choked and turned away, pulling his chin away from Logan’s steading hand. “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “They’re not worth it.”  
Logan nodded. “I know. But you are, Clint. You are worth my time and instead of hunting down the bastards who hurt you, I’m going to do my best to make sure that no one ever hurts you like that again, okay?”  
“I’ve heard that before,” Clint scoffed. “Barney used to say that.”  
“Your brother ain’t here,” Logan said, letting a little heat into his voice. “But now I am and I am the best at what I do. I’m Wolverine, remember.”  
“Yeah,” Clint murmured. “But you aren’t always going to be there.”  
Logan sighed and wrapped an arm around the distraught blond. “No, and I can’t promise to protect you from everything. That would be impossible and besides, it’d be boring as hell. I will do my best, though, and we can work on training you so you can protect yourself. How’s that sound, bub?”  
Clint shrugged, but Logan could tell he was relaxing finally. The stench of fear was starting to dissipate as the air conditioner kicked on. They sat there for a while, just calming down. Logan was still raging inside, but he kept it bottled up, away from Clint. The boy started to recover too and Logan expected him to be exhausted and ready to sleep for a week after the whole storm of emotions, but Clint surprised him again.  
The boy started to fidget, just sort of twitching in place, but not hard enough to break away from Logan’s half hug. “Um, hey, Logan?” he asked nervously as his hands twisted the sheets around and around.  
“Yeah, bub?”  
“Can we start now?” Clint asked, smoothing the sheets out before twisting them again.  
“Start what?” Logan asked, shifting to get a better look at his ward. Clint was practically vibrating with nervous energy now.  
“Well, I usually take my bow out after a nightmare. It grounds me, you know? So I can do that if you want to go back to sleep, but I was thinking that maybe a fighting lesson would be more helpful. To fight my demons?”  
Logan couldn’t help it. He laughed and hugged Clint tighter before releasing him and getting to his feet. “Sure, kid,” he agreed, snagging his boots. “We’ll go behind the hotel where you were practicing before. I’ll show you some moves. I should have done that before now, but we’ve been traveling.” He considered the last few days. “That’s no excuse,” he admitted to Clint who was grabbing his own shoes and a light sweatshirt. “We’ve been stopping for your archery practice, so there’s no reason why we can’t train you up.”  
Clint nodded and led the way out and around to the back of the hotel. Logan followed thoughtfully. The youngster kept surprising him at every turn and though he knew he was completely out of his depth with taking care of the kid, Logan was actually excited about the challenge. 

>>>>=========>  
After almost two hours of practicing punching and blocking, Clint was finally worn out enough to attempt sleep again. He was actually feeling pretty good. Logan had coached him through several different punches and blocks. Clint kind of felt like that boy from The Karate Kid, since his mentor was also short and old, only Logan was Canadian instead of Asian. The practice was surprisingly fun, though Logan promised that next time would be a lot harder. Clint didn’t mind, he liked learning new things and pushing his limits. An extra bonus was that his new mentor had reiterated several times that he believed in positive reinforcement over beatings to teach. It sounded really promising, though Clint couldn’t make himself trust the promise yet. There was a heavy feeling deep in his chest that kept reminding him how quickly someone could change their mind. Buck had started out with the carrot but it only took a couple mistakes to drive him to the stick. Clint shivered, despite the hot summer night. No, Clint decided as he took a quick shower to wash off the sweat from both his nightmare and the workout, he was not going to let that happen again. He was going to work harder and smarter than ever to make Logan proud. This time would be different.  
Clint came out of the bathroom, dressed in a fresh shirt and shorts. Logan glared at the scar on Clint’s calf, which was actually due to an accident climbing over barbed wire and was completely Clint’s own fault. The surprise of someone being upset over his old hurts surprised a laugh out of the archer and Logan relaxed. The man waved a hand at the bed. “Get some sleep, morning will come soon enough.”  
Clint glanced at the clock and winced. It was almost three in the morning. He decided not to say anything and just climbed back into his blankets. He heard the squeak of Logan’s bed but before he could figure out if it was Logan getting into or getting off his bed, Clint was fast asleep.

>>>========>  
As the late morning sun shone through the hotel’s cheap curtains right into Clint’s face, he remembered that he hated mornings. He’d forgotten that fact for a while, since everything was nice and warm and Logan usually had a plan for breakfast when they woke up; but the truth was that Clint hated mornings; especially mornings after a nightmare and a fighting lesson that left him with sore muscles and a bruise on his forearms. That was going to be fun when he practiced today. His mind felt fuzzy from lack of sleep and the emotional feedback from last night. Clint groaned into his pillow, suddenly remembering all the details of last night. Had he seriously cried on Logan? He had sobbed like a baby into the shirt of Wolverine! He was so embarrassed that he wished he could just disappear. It just came out last night, but now in the light of day, he felt like an idiot. How was he supposed to face his mentor after acting like such a wuss?  
Clint was still figuring out how to salvage his pride when he heard Logan chuckle to himself and grab the corner of Clint’s blanket and pull hard, whipping it off the teenager. “Come on, bub. It’s time to get up,” he ordered.  
Clint scrambled to grab his blanket, but it was gone, leaving him in the middle of a nest with no cover. “Aw, blanket, no,” he mourned.  
“I know you’re tired, Clint,” Logan said gently, “but we’ve both slept late enough.”  
Clint growled at his mentor, trying to get the same tone as the feral. It fell short but Logan laughed so Clint chalked it up as a win. He got up, reluctantly, and went to change into fresh clothes. He snagged the shirt and pants on the top of his bag and dragged them into the bathroom out of habit. It wasn’t until he was already changing that he remembered that he didn’t have to hide anymore, but he was too tired to think so he shrugged and tried to balance on one leg in the small space as he pulled on his pants. He succeeded in dressing without incident and he yawned as he came out. Logan clapped him on the shoulder as he took his turn in the bathroom to get a quick shower. Clint grinned at the companionable touch and made his way to his bed. He was still feeling fuzzy, but he wasn’t worried. It would probably go away after a cup of hot coffee. In the meantime, he’d take his sweet time reaching full awareness.  
Just as Clint was laying down to doze for a minute as he waited for Logan, there was a knock on the door. He jumped off the bed like a startled cat and knelt to grab his bow that he had under the bed. They were still worried about the SHIELD problem, after all. Though he wasn’t sure why their enemies would knock.  
“Get that for me,” Logan called, apparently not worried at all. “I’ll be out in a minute.”  
Clint sighed and let go of Princess. If Logan wasn’t bothered than Clint was probably okay to answer the door unarmed. He got up and went to open the door as whomever it was knocked again. In hind sight, he really should have checked the peephole before opening the door, but he was so sleepy that details like that just fell out of his head.  
Clint opened the door to two people. One was a beautiful black woman with long white hair in a brightly patterned sundress. She was a vision with her bright smile and intelligent eyes. As beautiful as she was though, Clint barely registered her presence due to the other being. Clint stared at the tall blue demon with pointed ears and sharp teeth. The yellow eyes seemed to burn as Clint kept staring and when he finally tore his gaze away, he saw the pointed tail waving lazily behind the man. Clint swore he smelled brimstone on the air and he couldn’t help it, he screamed bloody murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo sorry. That was mean. Till next time.


	11. Chapter 11- Misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I was really mean with my cliffhanger last time, but I'm back with a new chapter. I'm finally ready to introduce some new beloved characters. I hope they were worth the wait. Enjoy!

\\\\\///\\\\\///  
Logan bolted out of the bathroom at the sound of Clint’s scream, a towel his only attempt at modesty. He didn’t worry about it. He had fought in less. He was dripping wet with shampoo still in his hair, but he came out with claws drawn and teeth bared ready to protect Clint from all comers. He came to an abrupt halt as he saw the two people in the doorway. Clint had jumped back across the beds and came back up with his new purple bow in his hand, an arrow nocked and drawn back.  
Logan sheathed his claws, the sound catching Clint’s attention so the boy turned away from their visitors. The poor kid’s eyes were the size of dinner plates and he was breathing hard like he had run a mile. “It’s okay, Clint,” Logan said carefully. He stepped forward until he could reach the kid’s arrow and gently redirect it toward the floor rather than at Logan’s friends. His focus was on the armed teenager, but he spared a glance to Kurt and ‘Ro to let them know everything was okay.  
“We did not mean to startle you, child,” the weather goddess, Storm said, as tactful as ever. “We apologize for your distress.”  
“Ja,” Kurt, the blue demon, agreed. He had his hands up and his face was the picture of dismay at the reaction he had received. The poor elf was a little sensitive about his appearance. The kid had hurt his feelings.  
“Meet the X-men, Clint,” Logan said, reaching up to ruffle the boy’s hair, after the archer finally relaxed enough to release the tension on his bow. “This is Storm and Nightcrawler, or ‘Ro and Elf as I call ‘em. Welcome to Kansas,” Logan greeted his friends.  
“You can call me Ms. Munroe,” Storm said, holding out her hand with elegance.  
“C…Clint,” the teenager stuttered when Logan bumped him gently. He got his moxie back quickly though. “Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye,” he said with more confidence as he took Storm’s hand gently. He gave her his showman grin, which was wide but fake and Ro narrowed her eyes speculatively.  
“Kurt Wagner,” the elf said, stepping forward, his usual cheeriness returning.  
Clint bristled at the three fingered hand and Kurt quickly retracted it. Logan knew Clint didn’t have a problem with Kurt’s unusual appearance, he was only embarrassed and still a little off balance from last night, but the elf didn’t know that. Logan sighed and reached up to run a hand through his hair. He frowned at the feel of soap. “Let me finish showerin’ and then we can get breakfast,” he said decisively. He clapped his hand on Clint’s shoulder like he had just minutes before but this time, Clint shrugged it off. Logan shook his head as he went back in the bathroom. Clint didn’t even make a joke about Logan’s spiked hair or lack of clothes. Poor kid really was shook up. Hopefully he’d get over it quickly.  
When Logan came out of the shower the atmosphere was cold enough that Logan almost suspected Storm’s powers. Apparently Clint had not relaxed while Logan was rinsing off and now he was perched on the foot of his bed, glaring at the two mutants who were trying very hard not to be offended. Logan shook his head again and ruffled Clint’s hair in passing as he went to pull on his boots and snag his cowboy hat.  
“Come on,” the feral said, catching the attention of the other three. “Let’s get some breakfast and then we can get down to business.”  
Kurt, who had be perched on the chair leapt to his feet. “Ja, that sounds like a good plan, mein freund.”  
Storm considered them thoughtfully. “It is quite late. We did not mean to surprise you.”  
“We had a late night, so there was no harm in sleeping in. I heard the Black Bird earlier so I knew you were coming,” Logan replied diplomatically. It was almost noon.  
Clint looked up from where he was tying his shoes. “You didn’t tell me that,” he accused. “Thanks for that.” Logan didn’t know someone could tie shoes threateningly, but Clint managed it. Logan just raised an eyebrow. The kid was testy today, the worst that he’d been since that first night.  
Finally, they all walked out of the hotel and started down the street to the local Denny’s. Kurt reluctantly turned on his inducer so he looked like a normal, tall, blond man. The three X-men focused on catching up, not bringing up Clint and his situation yet. Logan figured he’d give the kid a chance to cool down before subjecting him to the other’s questions.  
It didn’t really work. As breakfast progressed, Clint just got more moody. He pointed out what he wanted without a word and didn’t flirt with the pretty young waitress. When the food came, Clint just ate methodically without appreciating the food. The biggest issue was that every time Kurt or ‘Ro tried to engage him, Clint rolled his eyes and answered in a monotone. At least he didn’t act so disrespectful to Logan, but he didn’t open up either. Logan was getting frustrated. Where had the sweet kid that Logan had come to know disappear to? And what was up with this moody brat? Logan was about ready to snarl by the time the four of them finished breakfast.  
Outside the diner, Storm stopped, prompting the males to stop as well. The weather goddess had stayed calm throughout the awkward breakfast but the look in her eyes reminded them that she could be as volatile as the weather she controlled. “Logan, we came to assess what Clint needs to continue his education and provide any assistance that you require. First I would like to talk to you and get a sense of your situation and resources, then Clint and I can determine what he needs.”  
She didn’t really give him a choice so Logan nodded, letting the corner of his mouth quirk up. “As you wish, Goddess,” he agreed, causing her eyes to twinkle. He turned to Clint. “So do you want to stick around while we talk or do you want to blow off some steam with your bow?” he asked. He fully expected Clint to grab the chance to get away and the boy didn’t disappoint him.  
“I’ll practice while the adults talk and decide my future,” Clint said rolling his eyes again. Logan raised an eyebrow and Clint settled down. “I’ll stay out of the way,” Clint tried again. His tone was more polite this time. “Just come get me when you’re ready for me.”  
Logan sighed because now the kid sounded beat down like he had last night. ‘Ro and Kurt were watching this exchange closely and Logan felt like he was being put on the spot. He shot a glare at his friends to back off a little while he dealt with the boy. He knew Clint wasn’t being a little snot out of spite; he was scared and nervous. Logan could smell it and he bet Clint knew he could smell it so there was a nice circle of understandings. Kurt and Storm backed off and started to walk back to the motel. Logan watched them for a minute before turning back to his ward. “Clint, are you okay?” he asked, studying Clint’s face.  
“Yeah, of course,” Clint lied but when Logan just raised an eyebrow, he relented. “No.”  
“Why not?”  
Clint glared. “Why not?” he yelled. Down the road, Kurt and Storm turned to look back at them. Clint lowered his volume. “Why not? How can you ask that? I see how you are with them. You want to go back to the X-men and I’m holding you back. They want you back and see me as a problem. I embarrassed myself by screaming at Nightcrawler and they must think I’m a waste of time and they’re going to convince you to leave me and I’ll be all alone again.” Clint was almost crying again at the end of his outburst, hot, angry tears that he refused to release. He ducked his head to avoid looking at his guardian, but not before Logan saw those tears.  
Logan felt the ground fall out from under him like a fight with Avalanche at the sight of those tears. He really wished he could stab something, preferably the jerks in Clint’s background. “Hawk,” he said gently, reaching out to grab the boy’s shoulder. This time Clint didn’t shrug him off, instead leaning into the touch. “I miss my friends, yes.” Clint flinched. “But they are here now and they have access to a jet to visit whenever they want wherever we are. I will not abandon you for them. And all I want is for them to see the Hawkeye that keeps impressing me and the Clint that I have come to care for. If you do that, they will love ya. Trust me, they are two of the most loving people I know.”  
Clint shrugged Logan’s hand off, but it wasn’t a confrontational gesture so Logan let it go. “You think so?” he whispered, tipping his head to the side to look at Logan.  
“I know so. When they see the real you they will embrace you and you might leave me for them,” Logan teased. They started walking finally. Clint stayed close but not touching.  
“Never,” the teen promised.  
“I don’t know, Ro’s a better cook,” Logan said thoughtfully. “And she’s prettier.”  
“Never,” Clint repeated a little forcefully. Then he slowed down a little and Logan turned to look at him. “Are you mad about how I acted before?”  
Logan considered his answer before he spoke. It was a delicate question, made more precarious by Clint’s history. “Yes,” he said finally but continued before Clint could shy away. “I’m disappointed that they haven’t seen the real Clint, but you’re not in trouble for it. I’m not going to punish you for mouthing off. Honestly, you should see me with the whole team. Cyke and I butt heads more than you can imagine so I can’t blame you for doing the same thing.”  
Clint nodded thoughtfully, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.”  
“Try to get to know them,” Logan advised. “You know, Kurt is from the circus too. And Storm is a very compassionate goddess.”  
“What does that make you? The mascot?” Clint asked, finally grinning again.  
“Careful, bub,” Logan growled, but he was grinning too so the kid would know he was teasing. “So, you ready to try again?” he asked as they reached the hotel.  
Clint shifted nervously. “Kinda?” he said. “Now I’m embarrassed because I was a jerk.”  
“Don’t worry about it. They’ve lived with me. A couple eye rolls and an awkward breakfast’ll barely register. Grab your bow and relax for a bit while we talk then ya can try again,” Logan said as he opened the door. There was a distinct smell of brimstone which explained how the X-men got in without a key. Logan waved at his friends and helped Clint grab his gear so he could practice. Clint ducked out as soon as he could, leaving the adults to talk.  
“So, Wolverine,” Storm began, crossing her arms to give Logan a look. “That is an interesting young man you have taken under your wing.”  
Logan raised an eyebrow and took his time finding a comfortable seat. “Warren’s the one with wings, ‘Ro.”  
Storm narrowed her eyes. “Do not play games with me.”  
Kurt, who was perched on the counter, his tail waving behind him in agitation, muttered to himself in German before speaking up. “Logan, we’re just worried about both of you.”  
Logan shrugged. “The kid’s been off balance all morning. Give him a chance.”  
“We are willing to do that if he will make the effort as well,” Storm said icily. “We have experience with difficult students, but they must be willing to try if they are to succeed.”  
“He’s a hard worker, and smart,” Logan promised. “You won’t have any trouble on that front.”  
“And you?” Storm asked pointedly. “Are you prepared to try as well? Raising a child is not an easy task.”  
Logan narrowed his eyes but didn’t answer. He loved Storm like a sister but she tended to underestimate him.  
Kurt spoke up again. “What Storm means is that we want what is best for both of you. Can you give him what he needs?”  
Logan snarled at his friend, making Kurt’s tail stand up straight. “Look, I don’t need ya judgin’ us. Help or don’t but don’t start doubtin’ my commitment to that boy. He’s had it hard enough without someone else abandoning him.”  
Kurt held up his hands defensively. “That was not my intention, mein freund,” he backtracked. “We only worry. Our lifestyle is not the safest, especially for one without powers.”  
Logan huffed in annoyance and Storm smiled gently at him. “We worry about you, Wolverine.”  
“The kid can hold his own and I’m workin’ on trainin’ him. He’s a wicked shot with that bow of his, better than I’ve ever seen. We’ll be fine.” He leaned forward. “And he’s safer with me than alone. Someone in SHIELD is targeting him. Fury doesn’t know who or why but someone has put out a capture order for him. Think about it. Capture, not kill, not arrest. Someone wants Hawkeye’s skills and their using backchannels to do it.” He growled to himself. “People like that won’t care that he’s just a kid.”  
Kurt hopped off the counter to pace, his tail back to waving behind him and his ears twitching. On the other hand, Storm was a still as a statue as she processed that information. “So he needs protection but you won’t risk the school to take him there,” Kurt murmured thoughtfully. “Is your plan to keep on the move and out of trouble until the threat has been dealt with?”  
“That’s the idea,” Logan agreed. “He’s a good kid who’s been dealt a bad hand. It’s not in the system yet since we can’t trust it, but Fury’s put the paperwork together to make him my ward, legally. I’m responsible for him now.”  
“Charles mentioned that,” Storm said distractedly. Then she looked up and nodded. “If that is the situation, we will do everything in our power. If you cannot trust SHIELD, then you know you can trust the X-men.”  
“I never doubted ya, ‘Ro,” Logan said with a wave. “But for now let’s just focus on his education. That’s what you’re here for.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, effectively closing the pervious matter. “Clint’s 14 and hasn’t been in a classroom in over 6 years. Let’s start with that.”  
“Agreed,” Storm said. She walked over to grab a large bag that she had left by the door, moving past Logan to do so. She trailed a hand over his shoulder, telling him wordlessly that she approved and would support him. She brought the bag to the bed and started pulling out reams of papers that she said would help her determine Clint’s levels. Kurt slipped out to get Clint while Storm tried to explain it all to Logan. He only gave her half a mind. School had gotten a lot more complicated over the years. It used to be about learning but it had become just testing to prove that the students learned to test. Professor Xavier did not follow any standard curriculum but tests like these were useful in determining where a student stood regardless of how Logan felt about them  
After a while, Clint and Kurt came back. Clint was ducking his head shyly, but Kurt was beaming. “Well, I talked to Clint and we think it will be easier for him to work with Storm alone for a while. Less pressure, ja?” the blue elf announced cheerfully.  
“You alright with that?” Logan asked with a smirk. He wondered who’s idea it really was; probably Kurt’s based on that smirk.  
“Yeah,” Clint agreed with a shrug. “Better than you all hanging off my every word or staring over my shoulder.”  
Logan chuckled. “Wasn’t asking you, Hawk,” he teased gently. “Ro? You good to be left with this ragamuffin?”  
She laughed quietly. “I believe we will survive being left alone,” she answered in good humor. “What do you think, Clint?”  
“I’ll be good, Ms. Munroe,” Clint said, cheering up a little. He seemed happy that she wasn’t holding his earlier behavior against him.  
“Then we’ll leave you to it. It’s early, but how about a beer, elf?” Logan asked, snagging his hat from where he had left it on the bed.  
“Ja, lead the way, mein freund.”  
\\\\\///\\\\\///  
With a wave, the men left Clint and Ororo behind to study. Now that Clint was more relaxed, Logan wasn’t worried. He would never have left them alone if Clint was still acting like he had earlier, for both of their sakes. He didn’t really want to come back to his ward frozen or electrocuted. Not that he thought ‘Ro would really hurt the boy, but… As it stood now, Logan was glad to get away and have a beer with his best friend. They had a lot to talk about and he could use some of Kurt’s advice.  
The bar had only just opened so not even the regulars had arrived yet. It was just as well, since Kurt had forgotten to reactivate his inducer, not the Logan minded. He hated that damn thing. They snagged a table in the corner and the young man behind the bar brought them a couple beers and a bowl of chips. He was nervous about Nightcrawler but didn’t make a big deal about it. He made even less of a deal when Logan handed him a fifty to keep the drinks coming. They sat in silence contemplating their drinks for a long time letting the tension build before Kurt finally broke it.  
“So, Logan, what did you want to talk about?” Kurt asked as he took a pull from his glass. Logan raised an eyebrow as he took a drink himself. “Don’t act so surprised, Wolverine. It’s written all over your face.”  
Logan shook his head and took another drink before answering. “I’m out of my depth, Kurt.”  
“Ja, that is obvious.”  
Logan glared, but part of the reason Kurt was his best friend was that the elf wasn’t afraid of him. “I am doing my best with the kid, but I’m,” he paused to choose the right word, “concerned. He needs more than someone to stab the bad guys.”  
“I spoke to him, you know,” Kurt said, leaning back to give Logan a look.  
Logan waited for him to continue but the elf just watched, waiting for Logan to ask. “What did ya learn?” he finally growled.  
Kurt smirked over the rim of his class. “He wants to make you proud. He thinks you’re the coolest hero alive and he wants to be just like you.”  
Logan rubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously?” he asked.  
“Ja, that is what he said.”  
“The kid could be a great hero,” Logan admitted. His brows furrowed at the thought of Clint in real danger but he had to admit to the kid’s potential. “Not all of us have powers after all, but it’s hard work if ya do it right.”  
Kurt clinked their glasses to that. They drank in silence for a while before the German spoke up. “So what is the problem?”  
“Did he mention why we had such a late night last night and why he was so snarly earlier?” Kurt shook his head so Logan continued, “He had a nightmare last night; woke me up with his screaming. Then we had a long talk about all the people who had abused him bad enough to leave scars. Scars, Kurt, on a 14 year old boy.”  
Kurt nodded wisely and took a fortifying drink from his glass, nearly emptying it. The bartender had refills for them before they had to ask. Kurt picked up the new glass and waited for the young man to leave before he spoke. “We have seen terrible things in our time, Logan. I had to deal with people who wanted to hurt me from a very young age so I know where young Clint is coming from.” His tail tapped the table as he reflected. “You know the dark sides of human nature better than anyone so why does this bother you so?”  
Logan ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he snarled in frustration. “We see it all the time with the team. Children whose only fault is that they were born with a mutation, being hunted and abused by strangers or their own family, are only the first example. But Clint is human and he’s like a damn puppy, he’s so eager to please. How could anyone hurt him?”  
“You really care for the boy,” Kurt said with a mischievous grin.  
“Watch it, elf,” Logan warned. “Your demon is showing.”  
Kurt waved a hand dismissively. “Logan, don’t worry. You are kinder than you know. Who is it that the smallest, shyest children always run to? Even in the middle of a battlefield?”  
Logan narrowed his eyes and drained his first beer. He snagged his second and considered it for a moment before taking a drink. “I just don’t want to screw this up, Kurt. I can’t be another person who lets that kid down. He has scars from his mentor beating him with the flat of a sword. His other mentor left cigarette burns on his shoulders for missing a target. I need to know that will not happen again.”  
Kurt reached forward to lay a three fingered hand on his friend’s arm. “You won’t, Logan. I believe he’s one of us who can see behind the snarls and the claws to the good man that you are. He trusts you, which you can imagine is huge for a boy like him. I know because I trust you too.”  
Logan chewed on that for a while, drinking his beer a little slower than usual. Kurt watched him closely, just waiting as he nursed his own drink. American beer was not Kurt’s preferred alcohol, but he made due. Besides, Logan did not want to get either of them drunk, not around Clint. Not that Logan could get drunk even if he wanted to.  
“Should he trust me though,” Logan said, finally. It was an honest question. There were days when Logan couldn’t trust himself.  
Kurt shook his head passionately and narrowed his eyes, his yellow irises flashing in anger. “Do not belittle our trust by doubting yourself, Logan. Clint trusts you, I trust you and the team trusts you. Do not forget that.”  
Logan bowed his head to think about that. He had to admit that someone believing in him always made him better. It gave him something to strive for. If left to his own devices it was even money on him disappearing to run feral with the wolves. “He’s going to need to keep trusting me to if he’s going to stay safe. I’m going have to start training him, hard.”  
Kurt nodded sensibly. “And you’re worried that you’ll scare him.” Logan shot him a dirty look but the elf continued, unfazed. “No, I see where you’re coming from. You do have something of a reputation among our younger students. Most would rather fight the brotherhood than have a one on one with you.”  
Logan growled but didn’t argue. Kurt had the bit in his teeth now and continued thoughtfully. “What is he trained in? I mean, besides the obvious.”  
“Trickshot apparently taught him archery, but originally, he was the assistant for a bastard called the Swordsman,” Logan explained. “I haven’t seen him with a blade other than a throwing knife, but from what he says he’s not bad.”  
The blue mutant perked up. “Another swordsman? I wonder what style he learned. Do you think he would be interested in learning from me?”  
Logan huffed and took a long pull from his beer. “Sure, elf. Your style would probably be better than my Japanese Samurai.”  
Kurt nodded, obviously already thinking about it. His fingers tapped the table as he thought, probably already putting together a lesson plan. “I’ll bring blades next time.” It took a few minutes before he pulled his attention back to the present. “What else?”  
“That seems to be it, other than the random lessons one learns from being a runt in a circus,” Logan teased, remembering some of Kurt’s stories of his time as a performer. “He’s got the makings of a good fighter but he’s never had any official training in that department. Guess his mentors didn’t want him to know how to fight back.” He was snarling by the last sentence and he was making the guy at the bar nervous. Kurt looked sympathetic even as he waved a hand for Logan to calm down. “We had a scuffle back in Colorado, just a trio of bullies who decided to be sore losers. I let Clint handle the oldest, a college punk, and while he was sloppy he still knocked the bastard down a few pegs.”  
“Start there,” Kurt advised. “I’m assuming you’re not planning to send him against Magneto anytime soon, so start with the threats at hand.”  
Logan lifted an eyebrow at his friend. “I was plannin’ on it. I just don’t want him to confuse my stabby irritability with his past mentors’ cruelty.”  
“And there in lies the crux of the issue, mein fruend, but let me add this.” Kurt said wisely, slipping into his priest voice. He liked to use it for lectures as well as sermons. “As one who has known abuse as a child, I can tell you that he will know the difference between abuse and training. You are nothing like those monsters who hurt him before and he will see that. He does see that now, Wolverine. Give him some credit. Continue to show him the difference and he will embrace it and you.”  
“Pretty words, elf,” Logan admitted morosely. “Only time will show if their true.”  
Kurt glared at his friend and knocked off Logan’s hat with his tail in frustration. “Believe me or not, Logan. I think you are the best thing to happen to that boy in a very long time.”  
Logan looked away. It wasn’t worth arguing that very little good things had happened to Clint, so Logan just looked good in comparison. The elf had that gleam in his eye that meant he was willing to fight for this point. Logan didn’t want to fight. He wanted Kurt to be right. So, he drained his beer and waved off the refill. “We should probably get back and see what trouble they’ve gotten into.”  
Kurt’s eyes widened minutely in surprise. He was used to being the one to cut their drinking short since he felt the effects much sooner than Wolverine. However, he knew when to restrain from picking on his short friend, most of the time. “Don’t trust Storm to keep your boy in line?” the blue German asked archly as he finished his own glass.  
Logan shot a look at his friend, trying to decide if the elf was joking or not. “Nah,” he replied with a shrug. “More worried that he talked her into something. He’s a real charmer when he’s not too tired to think straight.”  
Kurt laughed. “There is a story there. Please, share with the class,” he said dramatically, throwing an arm around the other man as they made their way out of the bar.  
“Well, first thing you need to understand is that the kid loves dogs, and I mean any kind of dog. He always wants to pet the dang things and the other day when we stopped for lunch, there was this lady with the ugliest little rat you’ve ever seen,” Logan began as they started a slow amble back to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say a special thank you to everyone who left kudos, comments, and bookmarks. This is now my most popular story and that feels amazing. I am putting my heart into this story and it makes my day to see other people enjoying it. Thank you!  
> Special thanks to magnetocerebro and CanuckleheadCowgirl who keeps supporting me and inspiring me. Thank you to two of my favorite fanfiction writers.


	12. Chapter 12- The Windrider, The Elf and The Hawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back. It's been a crazy month but I made it back to posting. For the moment, anyway because RL keeps throwing me curve-balls. But I will always come back, so please bear with me.   
> Here we have more of Clint's reaction to the X-men. Hope you enjoy. Thank you.

>>>=========>

Thwock Thwock Thwock

Clint sent arrow after arrow into the hay bale, letting the rhythm of his movements settle him. It wasn’t easy to relax like he normally did because the state of his head. He was mortified over his actions earlier and even as he tried to lose himself in the repetitive motions, he berated himself.

Twock. Sure, he was tired. Thwock. Sure, he was on edge from the nightmare. Thwock. And okay, he was not expecting the X-men to show up right away, and he totally blames Logan for that, but that did not excuse how he screamed at the first sight of Nightcrawler. Thwock. Of course he’d heard about the blue X-man. Thwock. The Amazing Nightcrawler was in a circus out of Germany for years and people talk. Clint had always wanted to meet the man, because he seemed so cool with the blue and the tail and the teleporting. Thwip. Clint cursed as the arrow he meant to finish the circle he made in the hay bale, missed by a couple inches. Gad, why had he screamed like a girl? He wasn’t ashamed for grabbing his bow and aiming an arrow at them, though that was unfortunate, too. Safety was important and even if they were famous, he had never met Storm or Nightcrawler. But the scream? Seriously? He put his bow down and viciously yanked off his gloves with his teeth.

Then he just had to make matters worse by being rude. He knew what he was doing but he couldn’t stop. It was like a train wreck that he couldn’t look away from. And the more he watched Logan with the X-men the shittier he felt and the worse he acted. He knew Logan promised to stick around, but promises like that had never meant much before. When Storm (he had trouble thinking of her as Ms. Munroe) had laughed at one of Logan’s jokes and smacked his arm, Clint had felt his stomach drop. When Nightcrawler had stolen a piece of Logan’s toast with his tail, and Logan had just chuckled and stole a sausage in retaliation, Clint felt his heart seize. Then listening to them catch up about all their friends had solidified it in Clint’s mind that Logan would be better off back home with the X-men who acted more like a family than running around the country with a circus brat who’s only use is his aim. Clint huffed as he started yanking his arrows from the bale. He might have been more upset than he wanted to admit because when he yanked one arrow out, he pulled the tip off.

“Aw, arrow, no,” he whined, leaning forward to rest his head against the hay. Logan didn’t think that though, at least that is what he said and he’d been very honest with Clint up to now. Crazy how the world works, right? Not long ago, Clint was an uneducated carney and now he was kind of a sidekick to a superhero. Clint grinned at the idea. Maybe, if he kept practicing he really could become a hero and make a difference.

A quiet cough alerted Clint to Nightcrawler, who was leaning against a wall, out of Clint’s way but close enough to see everything. Clint bristled for a minute before taking a deep breath and letting it go. He had no reason to be defensive and here was his chance to apologize for earlier. He finished pulling out the last of his arrows and squared his shoulders to walk over to the mutant.

“Guten Tag, jungling,” Nightcrawler said formally as Clint approached.

“Um,” Clint said, trying to remember the itty bitty bit of German that one acrobat had taught him.

Nightcrawler grinned and took pity on him. “Good day, young man,” he translated.

“Oh, right,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guten tag, Nightcrawler,” he said with what was probably a terrible accent, even for just two words.

The mutant didn’t seem to mind. “Storm says that she is ready for you, if you are?” he said politely.

“Okay,” Clint agreed. “Just let me get my stuff.”

He went over to where he had left his bow and gloves, using the action to build his confidence enough to talk. “So um,” he said when he turned around to find Nightcrawler still watching him with a little grin. He soldiered on though. “Sorry about earlier,” he said, trying not to mumble. “About, you know, the scream.”

Nightcrawler’s grin got bigger. “I believe we surprised each other,” he said diplomatically. “While it was not the best reaction I have received, it was far from the worst.” He shrugged up to his pointy ears. “At least you did not attack us, ja?”

“No, I just threatened you with an arrow,” Clint said, spinning one between his fingers. He realized that the fidgeting could look threatening and stopped. “I was an idiot and I was hoping, maybe we could start over?”

Now Nightcrawler’s smile was blinding, showing all his sharp teeth. “Of course! Let me begin.” He pulled himself up to his full height and gave a perfect sweeping bow. “I am Kurt Wagner, also known as Nightcrawler, member of the X-men.” He waited, still bent for Clint to continue.

Clint grinned. He made a bow of his own, though he had to juggle his quiver, bow, gloves and the arrow he still had in his hand. Somehow he managed not to drop anything except the one arrow. “Clint Barton, also known as the Amazing Hawkeye, formerly of Carson’s Circus, now apparently ward of Wolverine.”

“Wunderbar!” Kurt said, standing up again. “Logan mentioned that you too were circus folk.”

Clint nodded. “Yep, for a couple years now.” He paused, not sure if he should continue, but when did he ever keep his mouth shut. “I’ve heard of you, you know. And not just from the papers, which are shit anyway. We had a contortionist from Germany travel with us for a while and she knew you. Krissy, I think, it was a long time ago, but I remember her talking about how nice you were. I kinda always wanted to meet you.”

Kurt preened for a minute, before holding his arms out. “Well?” he asked. “Do I meet up with your expectations?” He did a little spin, letting Clint take in everything from his pointed ears to the gently waving tail.

Clint studied the man for a minute before grinning mischievously. “Eh, you’re okay.” He shrugged dismissively, and winked when Nightcrawler started to frown. “But Wolverine is my favorite.”

Kurt threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered in between chuckles. “He’s my favorite too.”

Clint nodded seriously, proud to have made the man laugh. “I want to be just like him,” he admitted as they approached the door.

Nightcrawler reached out to ruffle Clint’s hair and Clint didn’t shy away. He wasn’t even nervous about the touch, which surprised him. Logically he should be wary of the blue demon but despite the initial surprise, and resulting scream, he was fine with how the other man looked. Clint decided not to worry about it and led the way back into the hotel room.

He had been so preoccupied by Kurt that Clint had forgotten why the X-men were here. The pile of papers that Storm had spread out on Logan’s bed reminded him with the subtly of an elephant. He stopped short, but a gentle push from Kurt’s tail got him moving normal before anyone noticed.

Kurt announced their return cheerfully to Storm, who was shifting through that mountain of papers, and Logan who looked about ready to fall asleep.

“Well, I talked to Clint and we think it will be easier for him to work with Storm alone for a while. Less pressure, ja?” the blue elf announced cheerfully, completely ignoring the fact that they hadn’t talked about it at all.

Clint ducked his head shyly and when Logan asked about it he agreed. “Yeah, better than you all hanging off my every word or staring over my shoulder,” he admitted. He hadn’t really thought about it but it was true. Being surrounded like this made him feel like a monkey in a cage, being asked to dance. He was really grateful that Nightcrawler had thought of it first.

“Wasn’t talking to you, Hawk,” Logan replied with a chuckle that warmed the cold weight in Clint’s chest. He trusted Clint and that felt amazing. “Ro?” he asked the intimidating Goddess holding a ream of paper.

Clint ducked his head, expecting a scathing retort or something but she just laughed and asked what Clint thought. Clint sighed in relief because he hadn’t been sure that she would forgive him for his earlier behavior. “I’ll be good, Ms. Munroe,” he promised.

The goddess smiled at him and Clint relaxed. He barely noticed Logan and Kurt leaving, probably to visit the bar, though it was still pretty early.

“Well, now that we are alone, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, child,” Storm said, putting down her papers to give him her full attention.

Under the scrutiny of the weather goddess, Clint’s brain ground to a halt. “Um,” he said eloquently.

 “We got off on the wrong foot earlier. Perhaps we should forget all of that and begin again,” she suggested when the words caught in this throat. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem annoyed or impatient with him.

Clint felt his cheeks heat up and he ducked his head to try to hide it. “Me and Kurt did something kinda like that,” he mumbled. “I’d like to, please.”

Clint understood why people called her a goddess when she smiled like that. “Come sit down child and we’ll talk.” Clint sat down on the clean bed and resisted the urge to pull his knees up to his chest. “So, tell me about yourself, Clint. How did you come to meet Wolverine?”

“I met him during a show at the circus,” Clint said, smiling a little as he remembered that last show. “I was performing for a packed house and the ringmaster called for a volunteer. He picked Logan because of his height, made a joke of it.”

Storm nodded, to all appearances very invested in Clint’s story. “He gets teased for that quite a bit,” she agreed. “How did he take it?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know, didn’t seem to bother him. Missy set him up on the target and I shot an apple off his head.” He chuckled, remembering Logan’s unimpressed look with apple juice in his hair. “He heckled me, said that I could do better, so I shot his cigar out of his hand. He glared but was a really good sport about it. He was one of the best volunteers I’d ever had.”

“And after the show? Why did you start traveling with him?” Storm asked.

Now, his legs came up to his chest. He didn’t really want to talk about it. “My mentors stole from the circus and I confronted them about it after the show. Logan broke up the fight.” He took a deep breath, trying to lose the tightness that had settled around his chest. “Some government guys were poking around so some of the circus folk asked him to take care of me. Figured a kind stranger was better than having me stick around and bring them trouble.”

“Oh, child,” Storm said, getting to her feet and rushing around the bed to give him a hug. “That sounds terrible.”

 “Of course I didn’t know who he was at first. He was just this weird old guy who could scare off the suits, so I stuck around,” he continued with a shrug that didn’t break her embrace. It felt good, different from Logan’s hug last night. “It’s not like I had anywhere else to go.”

“When did you find out who he was?” she asked archly, pulling back to look at his face.

“A couple days ago? He told me he was a mutant that first night in Colorado, but he didn’t tell me he was Wolverine until later.”

“Oh, that man,” Storm groaned. “I guess he didn’t think it was important, or some such nonsense. Now that you know, how do you feel about him?”

“I think he’s really cool,” Clint defended his guardian. “He’s been great, really. And the mutant thing doesn’t matter to me. I kinda wish I was one.”

“Why? Do you know the hardships we face?” she asked carefully.

Clint scoffed. “So, what? At least you can defend yourself and you’re special. No one can take that from you.”  
“I see,” Storm said thoughtfully, sitting back and giving Clint his space back. He tried not to miss her warmth. “And people have taken things from you?”

Clint didn’t reply to that. He really didn’t want to get into the stuff he talked about with Logan with Storm. He didn’t want her to see how weak he was. He turned away from her and hid his face in his knees.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. Clint flinched, pulling away from her touch and her pity. “I know what it is like to be young and helpless,” she said softly. “I did not always have my gifts. I was once an orphan living on the streets of Cairo, stealing to survive. It was a long journey from that child to the X-man I am now.” Clint sneaked a peek at her and she was bestowing one of her kindest smiles on him. “You are just at the beginning of your own journey, Clint.”

“I want to stay with Logan,” Clint whispered. His stomach churned with fear that she wouldn’t agree.  

 “I think that is a forgone conclusion. When Logan commits to something or someone, he puts everything into it.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think he has committed to you. The only question that remains is if you are as committed to making this work?”

Clint rolled his eyes. X-men or not, she had no right to question his resolve. “Of course I am!” he promised.

Storm nodded, apparently pleased by his response. “Very good. Then let’s get started, shall we?”

She pointed at the chair that Logan had vacated and raised an eyebrow when he hesitated. She must have learned that from Logan because there was a world of commentary in that expression.

Rather than press his luck, Clint took a seat and turned to the little table. It wasn’t big, barely room for anything productive. Clint wasn’t sure how they would fit all the papers Storm had spread out all over the bed.

“We’ll start with some basic standard tests. Don’t worry about being wrong and if there is something you can’t answer just skip it for now,” Ms. Munroe explained. She was all business, now; with very little of the exotic goddess visible. She put a packet of papers down in front of him and handed him a pencil. “This will test your reading comprehension. Please begin.”

Clint stared at papers for a minute, panic swelling in his chest. “You know I haven’t taken a test in years, right?” he asked, purposefully avoiding the question he wanted to ask: what happens if he fails?

“It’ll be alright,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There is no judgement here. We’re just trying to discover where your starting point is, not where your journey will end.”

“Okay,” the teen said wryly. “Prepare to be disappointed,” he murmured under his breath as he started to read the first passage. She sighed in disagreement but left him to work.

Clint knew he failed miserably at the first test. It wasn’t even multiple-choice so he couldn’t guess either. He felt like something scrapped off a shoe as he handed it to Storm and she handed him another small packet. This one was math, which was worse. He liked math, but he didn’t know any times tables or long division or any of that shit. He had to leave over half of that packet blank and the rest was probably wrong. He was really frustrated by the last question which asked how far something would fly if shot at this angle with this force. There were a bunch of equations there for him to use and the question specifically asked for him to show his work. He just wrote what he figured the answer was based on experience and flipped the page with enough force to tear it a little. He felt like such an idiot.

After that was a test on vocabulary, a general science packet, and a history packet. As he handed off each half filled test, Clint felt worse. How was he supposed to know the significance of the battle of Gettysburg? He was lucky to know it was from the Civil War. Or how photosynthesis worked? What did that have to do with archery, which was his main focus for the last several years? And from his perspective, government was stupid. What had checks and balances or due process ever done for him? He shoved that packet away angrily enough to send it to the floor.

Storm was an unflappable as ever as she picked up the papers and added them to her stack. She graded each packet and wrote a couple notes down in her notebook. Clint itched to see what she was writing but she kept her notes angled away from him so couldn’t sneak a peek. She was pretty for an executioner, he mused, as it felt like every jotted note was a blow to his heart. He knew he was stupid, illiterate and uneducated, but it hurt seeing it in black and white. He dropped his head on the table and watched his pencil roll off the table. “Aw, pencil,” he whined, causing Ms. Munroe to look up.

“You’re doing well, Clint,” she encouraged warmly. “Only one more and then we’ll talk about the results.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “What’s left?” he grouched.

“This is a physics worksheet,” she said.

Clint bonked his head on the table. When would she be done humiliating him? Physics was advanced, college stuff. He didn’t even make it to middle school. He took the packet anyway and read over the first question. It was another how far question. He could do that, even if he couldn’t explain it. Trajectories he knew. He could guess at the acceleration and speed questions. There were a couple questions about shapes to that he could work out okay in his head. The energy questions about heat loss threw him though and the rest of the packet he left blank. He was just finishing when Logan and Kurt returned. Kurt was laughing so hard that Logan had to hold him up. Logan had a smirk but he just rolled his eyes when Clint tipped his head in question.

“Well, you boys look like you had fun,” Storm observed with apparent disapproval as she looked up from Clint’s tests.

“It’s not like that, ‘Ro,” Logan responded as he helped Kurt sit down on the clear bed. He batted the man’s tail away when it poked him as the blue elf tried to catch his breath. “I just told him a funny story and the idiot overreacted.”

“Kleiner hund!” Kurt giggled.

“Small dog?” Storm asked, obviously confused.

Clint snorted but turned back to his paper when Logan shot him a look. See? Sometimes he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s nothing,” Logan snapped. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“We have discovered a new weakness for Wolverine,” Kurt teased, poking his friend with his tail again. “We’ll have to update the data base.”

Overriding Logan’s growls, Storm crossed her arms to regard her teammates with her most no-nonsense expression. “Please explain.”

“I just don’t get along with little purse dogs, okay?” Logan snarled. “Now drop it.”

He stomped off to the bathroom and Clint saw Kurt mouth “I’ll explain later” to Storm. Then the blue mutant turned his attention to Clint. “So, how is it coming?” he asked.

Clint glared at the paper in front of him. He had no idea about the last few questions so he snapped it closed. “Just fine,” he said with as much nonchalance as he could. “Just proving what I already know.”

Logan came out of the bathroom and walked over to ruffle Clint’s hair. He glanced at the test that Clint had finished and picked it up to hand to Storm. “And what’s that, bub?”

Clint paused before he answered. He was going to say “I’m stupid” but he knew Logan wouldn’t like that and Clint didn’t want to argue. He ended up with just a shrug.

Logan narrowed his eyes like he knew everything that Clint was thinking but he turned to Ms. Munroe instead of calling Clint out. “What’s the verdict?” he asked, taking a seat next to Kurt on the bed.

Ms. Munroe tidied up her stack of papers. Half were answer sheets that she used to check the other half, which were Clint’s tests. “Well, as to be expected he has a lot of catching up to do.” Clint sighed heavily. He knew it. “But I don’t believe it will be a problem. According to my preliminary assessment, Clint is very bright with excellent problem-solving skills,” she continued.

 “Wait, what?” Clint blurted, catching everyone’s attention. He didn’t care. No one had ever called him smart, no one before Logan.

Storm smiled at him. “You are very bright,” she repeated. “Yes, you lack a lot of general knowledge but you did very well on comprehension and word problems. I am especially impressed with your grasp of physics. It’s one thing to know trajectories instinctually, it is quite another to learn how to apply that knowledge to a question on a test.”

“Knew ya had it in ya,” Logan congratulated with a nod.

“Wundabar!” Kurt exclaimed.

Storm nodded in agreement. “So, we will come up with a lesson plan that you can work through with Logan’s help. We’ll have to set up a schedule so you can meet with teachers from the school that can tutor you when you’re not traveling. They can help you with the more advanced topics while you catch up in general studies.”

Kurt bumped Logan and made a complicated facial expression. The older man huffed in amusement and nodded at Clint. “How would you like a new swordsmaster?” he asked. Clint tipped his head to the side in confusion, trying to understand what his guardian was getting at. “Kurt’s a pretty good swordsman,” Logan explained. “And his style is a little different from mine. Thought you’d be interested.”

“Learn from Nightcrawler?” Clint perked up finally. All the schooling talk had really been getting him down, but the possibility of learning a new sword style sounded awesome. “Hell, yeah. I mean, if that’s okay?”

“Ja!” Kurt nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll bring some blades next time and Logan’s katana. No reason you can’t learn from him as well.”

Clint’s head was buzzing with possibilities and he almost missed Logan’s next question. “So, who were you thinking for teachers?”

“Myself and Kurt, of course,” Storm said thoughtfully. “Jean, as well. Hank will be overjoyed to have a bright student to teach physics to. Forge might be of help as well.” She tapped her papers absently. “I’ll come up with a list and we can set up a schedule. In the meantime, we need workbooks for Clint to do on his own. It think that will be a satisfactory beginning.”

“Aw, Homework, no,” Clint groaned and let his head thump on the table. He was smiling though as he listened to the adults laugh good naturedly around him. They were heroes, and they believed in him. Clint couldn’t remember anyone believing in him like that, expectations without threats, hopes without punishments. All his life, Clint had been told he was worthless. He would prove all the jerks from his past wrong and live up to the expectations of the X-men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, one of the main sources of inspiration for this story, a wonderful writer called magnetocerebro, has started her own version of a child-Clint story. I really recommend it because her little Clint is amazingly adorable. Check it out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343054/chapters/33103458


	13. Chapter 13-SHIELD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Um, obviously I'm still alive and I'm keeping my stories alive too. It has just been a really crazy couple of months, so I just haven't had time to edit and post the chapters I write. And now I'm finally ready to start posting again, so here we go, the next step in the adventure. I hope you enjoy and thank you for your patience.

>>>>=========>

Storm and Nightcrawler stayed the rest of the day with Logan and Clint. Now that Clint wasn’t obsessing over Logan leaving and the humiliating written tests were done, it was easy to enjoy their company. Both X-men had come from unusual backgrounds, with similarities to Clint’s own that he was quick to latch onto. Some gentle prodding convinced Storm to talk about her better memories of being a child thief and they compared pickpocketing tips. Kurt expounded on his time in the circus and Clint was amazed with how much he had in common with the superhero. They moved the discussion outdoors so the two acrobats could show off. Then the adults wanted to see some of Clint’s archery tricks, so he put on an abbreviated version of his act. A couple of the hotel staff came out to watch too. Everyone was very impressed and the pretty girl who cleaned the rooms gave him a kiss on the cheek. Logan teased him gently when his cheeks lit up like a tomato. That was okay, though, because Storm had Clint’s back. She distracted her gruff teammate by teasing him about someone named Kitty.

Before they realized it, night fell and the X-men had to leave for home. Clint was sad to see them go, but both of them promised to see him soon. After all, Storm needed to bring his workbooks and Kurt had promised him a sword lesson. Truth be told, they were as reluctant to leave as Clint was to say good bye, but it was dangerous to bring too much attention to Clint and Logan’s location, so the X-men had to leave.

Logan didn’t seem bothered by his friends’ parting. He had a little secret smirk as he waved good bye. It took a lot of restraint, but Clint decided not to ask what put that expression on his guardian’s face.

“Well, it’s just the two of us again,” Logan said when they were getting ready for bed.

“Yeah,” Clint said, settling into his nest. It had been a really long day and he was exhausted. “I can’t believe I got to meet Nightcrawler.”

Logan chuckled. “He certainly liked meeting you. He was practically purple when you started gushing about his circus days.”

Clint blushed, a little embarrassed from his fanboy reactions. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Well, I figured we could either stay here another day or move on. After we hit the base in Oklahoma, I know a couple places where we could get a cabin for a few weeks and take a break from the road. Then ‘Ro can get you started on your school work and I can start on your training,” Logan mused. He lay back on his bed to contemplate the ceiling. He looked relaxed, but Clint would bet he was thinking over every possible angle, like Clint thought over the variables on a trick shot. “I think I should talk to Nick again before we settle in though; see if he’s had any headway with your problem.”

Clint nodded, ignoring the twist of guilt in his chest. It came back every time they talked about his little problem. “Okay,” he agreed, burrowing under his blankets and closing his eyes. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Clint,” Logan rumbled with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Yeah?” Clint peeked out to look at the older man.

“Remember you have a say in this. If something bothers you or just don’t feel right, you tell me. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint agreed warmly, the guilt melting away. Logan sat up to shoot him a narrowed eyed glare, Clint thought about the original question. “I think we should head out. No reason for us to stick around and someone might have said something about the X-men stopping by.”

“Good answer, now get some sleep, we’re heading out in the morning. I want to see what Coulson thinks is a low profile truck,” Logan stated and turned off the light.

Clint knew there was a story there but he was asleep before he could figure out how to ask about it.

>>>>==========>

Clint woke up amazingly refreshed the next morning, without the fog that had plagued him the day before. Logan was already up, of course, but Clint actually bounced out of bed before the mutant had to drive him out. It was a good start to the day.

They got on the road early and they barely saw any traffic for hours as they headed south into Oklahoma. They stopped once for food and gas but other than that they pressed forward. Logan wanted to reach the base before dark, which was about all he said on the matter. Clint decided he was okay with that, even though he was burning with curiosity.

It was a very boring drive, interspaced by different fields that gave way to oil drills and cattle ranches, and surprise: more fields. Clint really wished he could take a nap, but he was a little worried he’d fall off. Logan was sympathetic, but it was obvious he was enjoying the ride. Finally though, when he started to hear Clint’s groaning against his back, he started looking for a place to stop for a break.

They stopped for dinner at a gas station/diner that claimed to have amazing milkshakes. Clint of course wanted the biggest size they had and Logan didn’t argue with him. He was more interested in the larger burgers, anyway because he didn’t have the sweet tooth of a 14 year old. When the shake came, Clint gasped happily. It came in a really big glass mug topped with a generous mountain of whipped cream and a cherry on top with the metal mixing container filled with a second serving. Clint decided heaven would have milkshakes like this as he sucked cheerfully on his straw.

“Careful, bub,” Logan admonished as he picked up his monster burger. “Don’t give yourself a brain freeze.”

Clint waved him off. “I don’t get ‘em,” he said around his straw. He would be happy with just this for dinner.  He revised that opinion when they put his own burger in front of him. “Besides, what do you know about brain freezes? I bet you never had one,” he mumbled around his first bite. At Logan’s disappointed look, he swallowed and repeated himself.

Logan chuckled. “Yer right, but I’ve seen enough people get ‘em to know that it’s not fun.” He ate a greasy fry thoughtfully. “Well, not fun for them. I think the faces they make are pretty funny.”

“Oh, I know that one,” Clint agreed. “The circus sold snow cones and on hot days, even the adults would eat them too fast. They’re funnier than the kids, because they should have known better.”

Logan hummed in agreement and they abandoned further conversation to focus on their food. Clint hadn’t eaten since lunch and he was starving. The last couple weeks with Logan were some of the best fed in his life and he was sure he felt a growth spurt coming on. He wondered what Logan would do when he outpaced the short mutant even as he relished the idea.

After they finished eating and Clint was nursing the last of his milkshake, Logan leaned forward, suddenly serious. Clint swallowed convulsively and glanced around the diner, but no one seemed to be paying attention to them.

“We’ll reach the SHIELD base in a couple hours,” Logan began, “and we needed to discuss the plan.” Clint nodded, leaning forward to catch every word. “We don’t know if this is friendly territory, so I want you to stick close and keep quiet. Keep your bow out of sight.” Clint rolled his eyes. That was painfully obvious. Logan raised an eyebrow but continued. “We’re going to arrive late, pick up the truck and get back on the road. We’ll get a hotel in the next town and depending on the reception we get, we might move on immediately. Make sense?”

Clint let out a gush of air. “I was worried that you wanted to stay at the base tonight,” he admitted. The idea made his skin itch. “I thought that was why you wanted to get there before dark.”

Logan chuckled. “Nah, I’m hopin’ we arrive on the shift change, pick up our truck and leave before anyone realizes who we are.” He tapped the table absently, staring off into the distance. “I’m thinkin’ Fury picked this place for a reason and I’d really like to avoid any trouble until I get you trained up a bit better.”

“That’s why you want to get the cabin you mentioned?” Clint asked. He had visions of a quaint log cabin surrounded by pine trees, but it wasn’t like he had experience vacationing. He was really looking forward to it though.

Logan nodded. “We’ll work on that after we get the truck I was promised. Let’s go.”

 Logan rose quickly and strode to the counter to pay. Clint hurriedly finished the last inch or so of his shake before following. Never in a million years would he admit that he had just given himself a brain freeze, he just stood up too fast is all.

\\\\\///\\\\\///

The SHIELD base didn’t look like much from the outside, just a complex of building in the middle of nowhere. Farming and oil drilling equipment dotted the area around the buildings to provide camouflage and strategic cover. The buildings looked worn down, like the owner couldn’t afford the upkeep and just patched what was needed to keep them serviceable. Those patches and dangling siding provided hiding places for cameras, heat detectors, and other surveillance equipment. There were no guards immediately visible but Logan could feel their eyes as he rode past a tractor and into the lengthening shadows of the first outbuilding. There was also the distinct smell of gun oil in the air.

Logan turned off the bike and sat for a moment, studying the layout before he shifted to put the kick stand down and get off. Behind him, Clint clutched at his shirt.

“There’s people in the building to the left, they have guns,” the archer whispered. Logan didn’t need the light breeze to smell the kid’s distress. “And there’s cameras all over the place.”

“I saw ‘em,” Logan promised. “Stick close to me.”

Clint chuckled harshly. “Yeah, no problem there.”

A young man in military fatigues stepped out of a small building on the side. “State your business,” he demanded harshly. He wasn’t armed, but the guns that Clint saw and Logan could smell meant he was still dangerous.

“James Summers, here to pick up a truck and trailer. I was told you’d have it waiting for me,” Logan said as pleasantly as he could manage. His hands gripped the handle bars of the bike, and he could feel his claws shifting beneath the skin. Something didn’t feel right.

“We’ve been expecting you, if you will follow me?” the man asked in a tone that brooked no argument. He gestured to the door.

Logan narrowed his eyes, but he got off the bike, and Clint followed suit, still clinging to his shirt as he stared at the darkened windows of the buildings.

 “Leave your bike and your belongings. They will be dealt with,” the soldier ordered, turning sharply to lead the way.

Logan growled, not liking the idea of anyone touching his bike. He opened his mouth to tell the kid off for his expectations, when Clint jumped away from where he had been stuck to Logan’s back.

“Hey!” Clint barked at another man who had appeared beside them. “Hands off Princess!” The archer grabbed at the bowcase that was on top of their gear, tied to the bike.

The new soldier barked in surprise and lifted a hand to smack Clint’s hands away from bindings on the bowcase. Logan grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed, hard. “Let the kid carry his bag,” the mutant growled. “It’s personal. No one touches it but him, got it?”

The soldier nodded furiously before backing off and letting Clint take the case, which he clutched to his chest. It was a black, lumpy bag with semi-rigid sides that wasn’t obviously meant for a bow. The thing was almost as tall as Clint and he used it as a shield against all the strange men.  He looked at Logan with wide eyes, but the smell of fear was gone, leaving a faint odor of anger. The kid was acting; and convincingly based on the reactions of the four soldiers that were now in sight. They were all giving the kid looks ranging from compassionate to pity. Logan noted the red head that smiled at Clint and held out the boy’s jacket before disappearing with their bags. Clint made no move to the take the item, so Logan accepted it with a nod. Two of the others started to push the bike into a set of barn doors in a neighboring building. It took two of them because the bike was reinforced for Logan’s increased weight and had a couple extra surprises that the X-men had put in.

Logan glared after his bike, watching it disappear into the darkness before he turned to the first men they had met. The agent was standing patiently next to the door he had come out of, his posture in something similar but not quite parade rest. If he had been military he hadn’t been there for long before SHIELD recruited him. “Where’re they taking our stuff?” Logan growled, his patience waning quickly.

“Your bike will be secured to the trailer and your effects will be placed in your rooms,” the man said. He opened the door and waved them inside.

Logan planted his feet, narrowing his eyes. “What rooms?” he asked, his voice edging dangerously close to an outright snarl.

The man backed up a little, his surprise evident in his face and body language. “I thought you knew, sir!” he replied nervously. “We were told to expect you, of course, and you were to stay until Agent Coulson arrives to debrief you. I sent the message to Agent Coulson myself before coming out here.”

“And we’re supposed to just wait until Coulson arrives?” Logan scoffed.

“Yes, sir!”

“I wanted to be back on the road tonight. Tell Coulson he can find us at the next town.”

The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that. I have my orders. You’d have to take it up with Commander Smith.”

“And where is he?” Logan stalked forward and despite the six inches the agent had on him, the guy backed down.

“Inside, sir.”

“Lead the way, boy,” Logan ordered. He was going to take a bite out of the commander and leave tonight, without the truck if he had to. Something didn’t smell right.

The young agent swallowed and led the way inside the building without a word. There wasn’t much there. Two guards watched the surveillance cameras and one stood at the door of an elevator. Logan, with Clint trailing behind still clutching his bow case, followed the agent inside the elevator. There were no floor buttons and the lift was voice activated, which was annoying but not impossible to overcome if they had to make a run for it. They descended fast and further than Logan expected. He estimated they were about three stories underground when the doors opened. The hallway looked more like a SHIELD base now, with the eagle symbol on the wall and men and women in SHIELD uniforms or suits rushing around. The rookie agent led them past the chaos into an office at the end of the hall. He waved them inside but took a stance to the left of the door. He didn’t move to stop Clint as he slipped in behind Logan, which made Logan like him just a little.

Clint was taking everything in with big, over-whelmed eyes, but Logan could tell the kid was still just acting the frightened child. The archer had counted under his breath how far down they had gone and while he looked completely freaked out; he was counting faces and noting all the cameras. It was pretty impressive for a boy who had been in the circus up till a few weeks ago. He was certainly living up to his stage name.

The office was surprisingly devoid of personal effects, not even a plant or a picture to say anything about the base commander. The man behind the standard issue metal desk had once been very muscular and fit but had let himself go in recent years. His hair was grey and greasy, in a military haircut that was just a little too long. His brown eyes were sharp and hard, with lines at the corners from years of squinting at the sun. Smith waited until the door closed completely behind Clint before standing to greet his guests.

“Mr. Summers,” the old soldier said, pausing just an instant before saying the last name to show he knew that it wasn’t Logan’s real name. “It’s not often that we have such a distinguished guest in this little forgotten base and it’s even rarer that an agent from Headquarters schedules visit. I have to thank you for bringing some excitement into our lives here in Oklahoma.”

Logan crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow but didn’t answer. Clint stayed behind him, leaning against the wall, though he put his case on the floor for the moment.

“Yes, well,” Smith continued. He didn’t meet Logan’s eyes, turning to the paper work on his desk to save face. “I have placed you and your ward into a couple of the empty officer’s quarters on the fifth level. They’re a bit dark, but well-furnished and quite comfortable. I hope to make your stay here as painless as possible. Of course, Agent Coulson is a busy man, so we might have the pleasure of your company for a while before he arrives for your debrief.”

Logan considered the man before he answered. He was like an open book; a washed up soldier who was probably assigned to this base because he was old, out of date, and losing his touch but with too many years of service to let go. In his prime, he would have been a pretty decent agent, but something knocked him off his game, whether it was age or changing politics was a toss-up, and now he was wasting away at a base that was of low importance, but occasionally too useful to abandon; like the men they send here. Logan also thought about Coulson. Originally, Logan assumed that Fury had chosen the base, but it was starting to look like Coulson had something to do with the decision. The agent must have had a reason to send them to this backwater base. It would have been nice if he had told them what that reason was. Logan hated these spy games. “And if we don’t?” he asked through his teeth.

Smith scowled, his lips pinching together into a line. “That is not an option, Mr. Summers. I have my orders. You either accept my hospitality or I will have to detain you.”

That brought Logan up short, rubbing him the wrong way. “Do you know who I am?” Logan asked carefully, catching the commander in a stare down.

Smith sighed and plopped back in his chair, breaking eye contact as he focused on something on the far wall. “Yes, I do. As far as I know, no one else in this base does, but who knows.” He shrugged. “This is SHIELD. The point is that I do know what you are capable of and I’m still asking you to cooperate. Please, let’s make this easier on everyone.”

Logan grit his teeth, considering his options. He was not a fan of being stuck on a military base for any reason and normally he wouldn’t hesitate to show his feelings on the matter, but now he had a complication. “Francis,” Logan barked, jerking Clint to attention. “Are you alright with stayin’ here for a spell?”

Clint shrugged. “I guess so,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced but Logan couldn’t smell any fear.

“Fine,” Logan relented. “We’ll stay to talk to Coulson and I’ll have it out with him.”

“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Summers,” Commander agreed eagerly. “Now, let’s get you settled in. Agent Reynolds will show you the quarters we set aside and the mess. Then, if you are willing, I have some paperwork for you and I’d like to have a word with you alone.”

“We’ll see,” Logan said, turning to leave. He ushered Clint in front of him. Outside, the young agent, Reynolds stood straighter as they came out. He grinned and waved for them to follow him.

Reynolds was in full tour guide mode as he led the way to where the pair would be staying. The officer’s quarters were on the same level as the barracks, but down a separate hall to provide more privacy. Each room was sparsely furnished with a twin bed, desk and chair, and a trunk for storage. They did have a closet for hanging uniforms and a personal bathroom though. The young agent seemed a little jealous as he expounded on those points. Clint and Logan exchanged a look but didn’t interrupt the young agent; letting him prattle on about the layout of the base, explaining where some things were and where not to go. The Research and Development Lab and the Armory were the biggest no-no’s, Reynolds explained, though for different reasons.

“Agent Brown is in charge of weapons and ammunitions and he is a hard-ass stickler for the rules. Nice enough guy really, but not one for making exceptions for honest mistakes. R & D on the other hand is full of pranksters. Last year they caught a drunk baby agent wandering into their territory and they dyed him blue,” Reynolds explained as they turned into the hallway with the officer’s quarters. He grinned at Clint’s disbelieving look. “Seriously! They were working on a dye for camo purposes and the only color that would work was blue, and it is seriously long lasting. Agent Louis was blue for months. Ah, here we are.” He waved his hand at two doors that had green markers in the holders under the peep-hole.

Clint stepped forward to investigate but Logan held him back. “Wait here,” he ordered and entered the one on the left. He saw Clint’s bag on the trunk on the end of the bed so he grabbed it and carried it into the other room where his gear was laid out on the bed and trunk. Logan went through everything, poking into Clint’s bags and rifling through his own pockets. It didn’t look like anyone had gone through their gear. Rather than be comforted, it only put his hackles up. Why hadn’t they gone through everything? An X-ray or a scan shouldn’t be enough for SHIELD and even that minimal handling would have left more of a sign. He didn’t think it was his reputation that held them off either. Something was off about this whole base.

After he finished his inspection, Logan let Reynolds lead them to the mess for dinner. They didn’t discuss Logan’s reservations but his mood was obviously soured. Reynolds noticed that he was not welcome anymore so the agent declared his duty done and went off to get his own meal, leaving Logan and Clint to fend for themselves.

Logan glanced over at his ward, who was still clutching his bow case. It made him look smaller and vulnerable. Logan wondered if that was on purpose or if he just didn’t want to let his precious bow out of his sight. The mutant jerked his head at the line for food. Clint shook his head. Logan nodded in agreement, he was still satisfied from earlier too. Still, Clint would be hungry again soon so Logan just snagged some fruit, energy bars, and bottled juice for later. They retreated back to their room to talk.

“SHIELD looks pretty cool,” Clint said as he threw himself on the bed. It was surprisingly for a military barracks, though the sheets were scratchy.

“Something is wrong here,” Logan said, taking a seat at the desk in the corner. He watched Clint bounce with amusement and a little pride. The boy was resilient. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something doesn’t smell right.”

Clint shrugged and snagged one of the apples. “Well, everyone looks really uptight, but I figured it was because they all went to the same spy school.” He crunched into his prize, relishing the juicy tartness. He offered one to Logan but the older man refused.

Logan got up to pace, the feeling of “wrongness” buzzing under his skin. “That’s not it,” he mused. He needed a plan and more information. And he needed Clint to stay safe. He harbored no worries for himself, saving them all for the boy getting apple juice on the bed sheets. “I’ll figure it out when I talk to the commander. I want you to stay here, out of trouble until I come back. Don’t open the door for anyone else.”

“Aww, Logan, no,” Clint whined, wiping the apple juice off his face. “Come on, I want to help.”

“No,” Logan stated, leaving no room for argument.

Clint’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he’s stubbornness was no match for Logan’s resolve, and he sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”

“Good.” Logan stood up and moved to the door. “Stay out of trouble,” he teased with his hand on the door knob.

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, waving Logan away.

With a shake of his head, Logan slipped out.  He was alone in the hallway so he took a moment to scent the air. Nothing out of place, mostly gun oil, sweat, printer ink, the ozone of high tech equipment and a dash of coffee. Still, there was something that bothered him, he just couldn’t finger it. He took the long way to the commander’s office, prowling a little without setting off any alarms. If there was something rotten here, he didn’t want to disturb it, yet.

Commander Smith was still at his desk when Logan knocked. The man seemed more at ease and the scent of good whiskey explained why. Logan closed the door behind him and sat down.

“Mr. Summers,” the grey haired man greeted him.

“Logan,” the mutant corrected. The Summers alias had started as a joke, but it was wearing thin.

“Logan, then,” Smith agreed. “I’ve got some paperwork for you regarding the truck and trailer we’re holding for you. I thought we could have a drink as I walked you through it.”

“Agreed,” Logan said approvingly. He wasn’t about to turn down a whiskey that smelled like that.

The bottle the commander pulled out didn’t have a label, and he didn’t name it when he poured some into two crystal tumblers. The amber liquid was strong and smooth, definitely top shelf. Logan saluted his drinking companion before taking a mouthful. It burned just right. Smith nodded in smug agreement as he refilled the tumblers.

With a drink like that, Logan didn’t mind filling out the titles and insurance for the truck, which he still hadn’t seen, but the title looked promising. Older, American-made, with relatively few miles; Smith promised it was in good working condition. He also promised that it was all original parts, not upgraded by SHIELD.

“Agent Coulson, who picked it out of the pool, had it sent here from the LA office,” the officer explained, slurring just a little.

Logan nodded as he signed another paper, this time with his real name or at least the one he goes by, for SHIELD’s records. “Coulson knows his cars and appreciates good workmanship,” he agreed to keep the man talking.

That sent the man off on a tangent about his superiors that was illuminating, both about the subject and the commander. The man had a chip on his shoulder from being assigned here that was not immediately obvious. Logan sympathized with the man, because it was a blow to be semiretired like this. Still the man took the “promotion” very personally, probably more personally then he should.

Logan kept the old soldier talking by talking about a few of his more frustrating superiors that he remembered. Cyclops alone gave him enough fodder to last all night. They were making serious in roads into the whiskey and Smith was matching Logan, drink for drink, so commander was definitely drunk when there was a heavy knock on the door. The Commander cursed and tried to set himself to rights, with limited success. He had lost his tie at some point and Logan wasn’t sure where it had gone. Logan wasn’t pleased either, he had been about to ply the man for information about the base.

The door opened, revealing Agent Reynolds, who looked apologetic, two very large agents in fatigues, who looked furious, and Clint Barton, who looked sheepish. The two hulking men shoved the boy into the office.

“Okay, this looks bad,” Clint started to say, but the guard on the left cut him off with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Logan bristled at the touch, but held his peace.

“We found him in the armory, Commander,” the man, whose red hair reminded Logan a little of Jean’s, barked. He glared at Clint, who grinned guiltily.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Reynolds spoke up, edging his way around the red head. “I should have posted a guard at their door, or stayed with them myself, but I didn’t think… Anyway, I’m sorry, sir. I take full responsibility.”

Commander Smith’s slightly blood-shot eyes scanned the occupants of the room. “He should be punished?” he said, the statement turning into a question as he glanced at Logan.

Clint winced at the smell of alcohol in the room, but stayed quiet. Logan refrained from grinning at him, kind of proud that the kid hadn’t listened to him and had gotten as far as the armory. The other brute, a brown-haired, brown eyed man whose only memorable trait was his size, crossed his arms to glare at everyone. “He was in a restricted area, and we don’t know how he got in there. The armory is two levels down sir, who knows what other areas are compromised. Let me interrogate him then you can decide the appropriate punishment.” He looked down his nose at the teenager, who rolled his eyes. The agent tensed at the implied insult and clenched his fists.

Logan stood up, and maneuvered so he was between Clint and the two brutes. “He is my charge, agent. Remember that. I’ll decide what punishment is necessary, not you.”

“He broke the rules!” the man barked back. “What if he broke the law? Are you going to pull that line with the police?”

Logan was about to snarl at the man when Smith spoke up, “Stand down, Agent Brown.” Clint snickered, but quickly pulled an innocent face. “Mr. Summers and his ward are our guests, and while they have violated our hospitality, I think we can overlook this infraction, this time. Next time, I will not be as lenient. Do you understand, young man?”

Clint looked confused as he studied the drunken officer, but he nodded with enough humility to satisfy the man. “Yes, sir, it won’t happen again,” he promised.

Smith nodded a few too many times in agreement before turning to his men. “You are dismissed,” he ordered. “But I want a report on my desk tomorrow about how an untrained boy was able to evade professional SHIELD agent’s long enough to get to the armory.”

All three agents grumbled but left with a sharp salute. Logan shook his head and steered Clint outside after them with only a nod to the commander, who didn’t seem to notice.

Reynolds held back to escort them back to their room. “You should really keep your head down,” the young agent said as they reached the door. “Usually the commander isn’t in such a good mood. He could have ordered Francis imprisoned.” He reached over to ruffle Clint’s hair. “I have a little brother about your age, so I get it. But you’re too young to be doing risky shit like that, so try to stay out of trouble.”

Clint shrugged. “I’ll try,” he promised. Logan could smell the lie but didn’t mention it.

“See that you do,” Reynolds said, shaking a finger at Clint. Then he waved as he left down the hall.

Logan watched him go before entering the room, Clint trailing behind him.

“So, before you say anything, I know this looks bad and believe me, when I say it looks bad, it must be worse,” Clint said as soon as the door closed.

Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for the boy to explain.

Clint blushed, but kept his shoulders back and his back straight. “I was bored, so I snuck out. I almost got caught by the R&D people so I ducked into the vents. Did you know vents are awesome? Then I kinda got lost, so I don’t really know where I was when I found it and when I saw it, it kinda freaked me out, so I back tracked but I was still lost. That’s when I decided to get out of the vents, but I had somehow ended up on another level.” He shrugged. “I have no idea how that happed, because I don’t remember going up or down. Then those guys caught me. That Agent Brown really is a jerk. He and the other muscle head started to march me to see the Commander. We ran into Agent Reynolds on our way and when Brown told him what happened he invited himself along. I wasn’t expecting him to stand up for me like that. He’s really nice, you know, for a suit.”

Logan sat down on the bed, making it creak. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to wade through that statement. “What did you find that freaked you out?” he finally asked, picking out the only relevant part of the story.

Clint took a deep breath, relaxing when Logan didn’t snap at him. “Okay, so I noticed that SHIELD likes to put their logo on everything, right?” Logan nodded, not sure where the archer was going with this. “It’s on everything, even their water bottles and granola bars, so I thought it was weird when I saw a different symbol on the wall as I shuffled through the vents.” He glanced at Logan to see if he was following. “I looked closer and the room was filled with computers and weapons, like a lot of weapons. Guns lined the walls and they weren’t locked up like in the armory I stumbled into. And one wall was devoted to the creepiest looking mural.”

“What did it look like, Clint?” Logan asked, his own anxiety spiking. Somehow he knew what Clint would say before the archer answered.

“It looked like a skull with tentacles coming out of its mouth,” Clint described, wiggling his fingers under his chin to demonstrate. He narrowed his eyes at his guardian. “You know what it is don’t you? What it means?”

Logan clenched his fists and let out his breath in a gust. This explained so much, providing answers to questions he hadn’t even asked yet. He looked Clint in the eye and spoke one word. “Hydra.”


	14. Chapter 14-Hydra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter already! I didn't want to leave that cliffhanger too long. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> My beta is busy so any mistakes are mine.

>>>========>

“Hydra?” Clint asked, cocking his head in confusion. “What’s that?”

Logan shook his head, and Clint kept a wary eye on the man’s clenched fists. “In this case, it’s an organization, an old one, dating back to WWII at least. Think Captain America’s enemies.”

“Nazis?” Clint squeaked. Even he knew about Captain America vs. the Nazis, mostly from comic books, but it counted, right? They were educational. “What are Nazis doing in SHIELD?”

“I don’t know, bub, but I don’t like it,” Logan admitted. He stood up suddenly, making Clint jump back. “We should git out of here, with or without the truck.”

Clint took a deep breath to calm down. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “What’s the plan?”

Logan held up a hand for quiet and slowly opened the door. The musclehead from earlier, the one who hadn’t said his name, was standing guard at the door. He turned as the door opened.

“What do you need, sir?” the agent asked without inflection.

“I want to talk to the Commander, can you see if he’ll come down?” Logan asked, like it was his intention all along. “We need to talk about the boy.”

“Yes, sir,” the red head agreed. He pulled out a radio to talk to someone about bringing the Commander to the officer’s quarters.

Logan nodded and ducked back into the room. “Someone put a guard on us,” he told Clint is a whisper. “Seems someone doesn’t trust us anymore.”

Clint feigned surprise. “No, why wouldn’t anyone trust little old us?”

Logan glared, apparently unamused by the joke. Clint decided not to poke the bear when his mentor was obviously thinking. So he turned his attention to finding something he could do to be helpful. Looking around the small room, Clint decided that was easier said than done. He didn’t know anything about Nazis or spy organizations and precious little about fighting. His only useful skill was his aim. He turned to his bowcase which was still leaning against the wall where he left it to go on his unsupervised tour of the base. He grabbed it and put it reverently on the bed. He opened it to see his precious bows, both the one he had from the circus and Princess. After only a moment’s hesitation he grabbed Princess and strung her before laying her on the bed and pulling out his quivers and arrows. He didn’t have any special arrows, not even the broadheads used for hunting, but it was better than nothing. He divided the arrows between his hip and back quivers. Hopefully that would give him access to an arrow in most situations. He strapped the quivers on and shook himself to get them settled. He was surprised how calm he felt. It was like the focus he felt before a performance when he just set aside his nerves to deal with later. He’d probably pay for this detachment later, but now he was ready for anything. Well, almost anything. He grabbed his bag and dug to the bottom to pull out the throwing knives he got from Jacques. He slipped them in sheaths hidden in his pockets and around his ankles. Now he was ready for anything.

Logan watched Clint’s preparations with an approving smirk. He opened his mouth to say something as Clint started closing his case when there was a knock on the door. Logan glanced at the door, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath through his nose. He glanced at Clint who nodded and finished closing his case and shoving it under the bed. He slipped into the corner that wasn’t immediately visible from the door.

Logan opened the door carefully and whispered something before letting the Commander inside. Smith walked in stiffly. He seemed much more sober than he had looked earlier. He started in surprise when he noticed Clint, but Logan didn’t let him pause, forcing him inside so he could close the door.

“What is this about, Logan?” Smith asked; his tone full of annoyance. “I thought you wanted to talk about a punishment for your ward.”

“There is something I wanted to ask you, Commander Smith,” Logan growled softly. The sound made the hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stand up and it had a more pronounced effect on the commander. Smith jerked at Logan’s words, his hand automatically going to the weapon in his shoulder holster. Logan snarled at the move and Smith froze.

Clint hadn’t seen this side of Logan before and after a second he realized why. This wasn’t Logan, the gruff Canadian who had rescued him; this was Wolverine, the best at what he does. Clint’s grin grew just a little as he watched the base commander shake in his shoes. Maybe, just maybe, Clint would have a chance to show his guardian that he was the best at what he did too.

Wolverine prowled around the frozen SHIELD agent. “I hope for your sake that you answer this question correctly,” he growled before coming back around to face the man head on. “Are you loyal to SHIELD or Hydra?”

The man’s eyes widened and he reached for his weapon again. Wolverine didn’t give him a chance. He punched the agent in the sternum, making the man gasp like a fish, before knocking him out with a blow to the back of the neck.

Logan glanced at Clint who had watched the violence without flinching. The young archer gave a thumbs-up because he wasn’t sure he could speak without squeaking.

“Guess we know his answer,” Logan said, toeing the downed man onto his back. “Help me tie him up. Then I’ll take care of the brute in the hall and we’ll get out of here.” They cut strips of bedsheet to tie up the commander and gag him. Then Logan moved silently to one side of the door. “Soldier, get in here!” he barked sharply.

The agent standing guard opened the door cautiously, looking around. He froze when he saw his superior hogtied in the corner. Wolverine didn’t give him a chance to react. The mutant struck like snake and the man collapsed in a heap. Clint came over to help tie up the second man.

“Now what?” the teen asked as he stepped back.

“Now we get out, call Fury and chew him out for sending us in here blind,” Wolverine snarled. “Come on,” he ordered, opening the door to peek out. There was no one in the corridor, so they slipped out and made their way through the base.

They almost made it to the emergency stairs, which would get them to the surface without being trapped in the elevator, when they ran into Agent Reynolds coming out of what appeared to be a records room. The young agent went still when he saw the pair, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to come to terms with the change in demeanor for both of them. Wolverine didn’t give him a chance to decide what to do. He shoved the man into the wall and unsheathed his claws under Reynold’s chin, just enough to tickle when he swallowed.

“We don’t have time for pleasantries, Agent Reynolds,” Wolverine hissed. “So I’m only going to ask this once. Are you loyal to SHIELD or Hydra?”

“SHIELD, SHIELD, definitely SHIELD,” Reynolds babbled. He held his hands in the air in surrender. “Please, I’m on your side, Wolverine.”

“Talk. Did you know about Hydra?”

“No,” Reynolds promised, going up on his toes to avoid the claws. “I swear.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “But you knew something was up?”

Clint watched the agent closely. He didn’t have Logan’s sense of smell to tell if the man was lying but he had worked for a circus for the last five years. He was pretty good a spotting a fake. So far, Reynolds seemed really cool. Clint really hoped they wouldn’t have to hurt him. He glanced uncertainly at his guardian, but Wolverine’s cold glare gave nothing away.

“Yes,” Reynolds admitted. He flinched when Wolverine growled and explained quickly, the words tumbling over each other in his attempt to get them out as quickly as possible to placate the angry mutant. “Something seemed off. Some of the officers would be unreachable at weird hours and I noticed some of the agents hanging out together without reason. They certainly didn’t work together but they didn’t seem to like each other either. I was starting to think I was imaging things but then you showed up and those groups started acting stranger.” He shot a hard look at Logan. “You’re saying they’re Hydra?”

“Yes,” Wolverine replied.

The young agent drew himself up. “So, what are we going to do about it?”

The mutant retracted his claws and stepped way. Reynolds came down off his toes and rubbed his throat, checking for blood before smoothing out his fatigues. “We’re going to get out of here and call in a report,” Wolverine growled. Reynolds stepped back at the ferocity in the mutant’s tone, bumping up against the wall. “I want Clint as far from here as possible before this powder keg blows.”

Reynolds glanced at Clint and nodded sharply. “Of course,” he agreed, not even questioning the change in names. Clint filed that away to think of later. “I can get you through to the surface. Follow me.”

The agent led them to the emergency stairs and used his codes to get them through, which was much easier than Logan’s plan to slice the door to pieces. They ran up the dimly lit staircase in silence. Agent Reynolds led the way, his footsteps barely louder than his unlabored breathing. Wolverine brought up the rear, straining his senses to prevent an ambush or attack from behind. He was deadly silent and if Clint hadn’t feel the mutant at his back; he would never have known he was there. Clint stayed in the protected center, his bow at the ready with an arrow nocked. Despite the seriousness of the situation, not to mention the danger, Clint swelled a little with pride to be a part of the team. He bit his cheek to control the grin that threatened to show on his face.

Finally they reached the top and Reynolds carefully opened the door, peeking out into a hallway.

“Coast is clear,” he hissed, waving the other two through the portal before closing it and locking it with a code. He glanced around, finally settling on the left side hall. “This way to your truck. We’ll have to pass by a surveillance room so try to act casual.”

Wolverine nodded and glanced at Clint, jerking his head at the bow and arrow clenched in the archer’s hands. Clint rolled his eyes, but put the arrow away and slung the bow over his shoulder. Wolverine straightened to his full height and tipped his head from side to side, cracking it and releasing some of the tension in his neck and shoulders. He waved at Reynolds to lead the way and the trio started down the hall.

They reached the open door to the surveillance room, which was filled with monitors showing different sections of the base and surrounding areas, without incident. Four agents milled around, watching the screens, filling out reports, and drinking coffee. Reynolds stepped forward, while Clint and Logan held back to see how the guards would react. They positioned themselves at an angle to see some of what was going on in the room without being fully visible. One glanced up when he saw Reynolds and saluted the younger agent with his coffee mug. Reynolds waved back, a cheerful grin plastered on his face even as he tensed to see if the man would sound the alarm. The other agent turned back to watching the monitors without a word and Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

His relief was short lived. An ear-piercing alarm started blaring through the base, making Logan snarl and Clint clutch at his ears. The SHIELD agents, including Reynolds, froze for a moment, listening to the alarm, which consisted of three long high pitched tones then a pause before repeating. Then a lot of things seemed to happen all at once. It was only later, when Clint had time to process everything and talk with Logan could he put everything in order. Reynolds and the friendly guard glanced around in confusion. They were looking at each other, while Clint and Logan stayed hidden by the door frame, when two of the other guards pulled their weapons and without flinching, shot their compatriots in the head. Reynolds bellowed in outrage, bringing his weapon to bear and shooting the closest in the chest before they could react. He turned his gun on the last guard, who was swinging his weapon around to shoot the newcomer when Wolverine barreled into the room. The traitor’s shot hit the mutant in the chest, but he didn’t even register the wound, just kept going.  With a flash of his claws the man’s rifle was scrap metal and Logan had the man pinned to the wall by his throat, two claws on either side of the man’s chin. The man’s eyes widened as he felt the middle claw press on his chin.

“What the hell is that alarm?” Wolverine snarled. “Is that a signal from Hydra?”

The mutant’s prisoner braced himself, his eyes flashing with defiance and hate. He spat at Wolverine and when the feral snarled at him he did something with his jaw, jerking it to the side and biting down hard, swallowed and after a second, started to spasm. Wolverine threw the man to the floor and the three of them watched him finish his death spasms in silence.

“Cyanide?” Reynolds exclaimed, sounding more insulted than upset. “Seriously? Is this the Cold War and no one told me?”

Clint stared at the body. He had Princess in his hands and he ran his fingers over her grain compulsively. He had never watched anyone die before, not like this. There was the old horse trainer who had a heart attack, but he died in the hospital. And that one gilly who thought he could walk the high wire better than the carnies. Barney and Clint found the body, but they didn’t see it happen. This, this was different. This man killed his friends in cold blood and took his own life. Clint started to shake. He looked at Logan, hoping for something but if he was honest he had no idea what. That’s when he noticed the bloody hole in his guardian’s shirt, almost right over his heart. He could still see the wound sluggishly weeping bright red blood, dripping down to mingle with the rest of the blood that covered the floor. Clint stared at red trail until it filled his vision and he started to hyperventilate.

“Clint, hey, look at me!” Logan ordered, snapping his fingers in front of Clint’s eyes.

Clint couldn’t disobey the order and he looked up into the worried face of his mentor, his friend. “I know I give you grief for the points, but have you ever thought about how ridiculous those muttonchops are?” he said, his mouth running away from him without consulting his brain. Honestly he had no idea where that comment came from, but at least the words come out. He would have guessed that anything beyond a squeak would get caught behind the lump in his throat. He felt a little more stable when Logan smiled. “I mean, you got shot! Futz! Are you okay?” he exclaimed, finally putting words that made sense to the situation together.

“Yeah, bub, I’m okay,” Logan rumbled softly. He put a hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Clint leaned into the touch, glad to feel the living heat in the man’s hand. “Healing factor, remember? It’ll take a lot more than that to slow me down.”

Clint laughed. Duh, he was stupid, of course Wolverine wouldn’t be brought down from one gun shot. What was he thinking?  He sobered up after a few seconds. He kept thinking about what would happen to him if Logan died or left him. Not happy thoughts.

“You okay?” Logan asked, snapping his fingers again. Clint hadn’t even realized he was staring at the blood again.

Clint took a deep breath, then another before nodding. “Yeah, just kinda freaking out about all the dead bodies.”

“I’m with you, kid,” Reynolds said from where he was messing with the camera feeds. “This has me freaked. I don’t recognize this alarm, but obviously these bastards did. I mean, SHIELD has different alarms for everything. We have one that means “Alien Invasion” for fu…gosh sakes,” he glanced at Clint as he changed his swear word. Clint rolled his eyes. “But I’ve never heard one for kill your fellow agents!”

“Hydra,” Logan pointed out, moving to stand beside Reynolds. “I’m bettin’ this is their move to take the base, which means someone found Commander Smith.”

“Then they’re killing everyone else?” Clint squeaked.

“Not quite,” Reynolds said, pulling up a couple different cameras. “They have the personal quarters on lockdown with guards watching the doors. Most of the agents off duty don’t even know what’s happening, yet.”

“What about the men on duty?” Logan snarled. He reached over the agent’s shoulder to get control of the cameras. He started flipping through the feeds faster than Hawkeye could follow, though he wasn’t trying real hard. He didn’t really need to see more bodies.

“Personal space?” Reynolds whined before giving up and relinquishing controls to the X-man. He glanced at Clint and the teen couldn’t decide if the look was full of pity or understanding. “It’s not pretty, but it looks like only strategic areas had the kill order. But that leaves a lot of hostages. This is not good.”

“Bub,” Logan snapped, bringing the agent’s attention back to the screen. “What do you think of that?”

Clint slipped up behind the adults to get a better look. He tried not to think about how sticky the floor felt or why. The security feeds showed men sporting big guns herding men and women in lab coats into a room filled with lab equipment. As they watched, one of the men, an older man with an impressive grey mustache, turned to beg his jailors. The Hydra agent shoved the poor man in the shoulder with his rifle butt, hard enough to knock the scientist over. The other prisoners hurried to help the man to his feet before the Hydra agent could hit him again. After that they all stopped resisting.

“That doesn’t look good,” the archer felt the need to say. “This is where we call Directory Fury right?”

Logan shook his head but Reynolds answered. “All communications with SHIELD were cut when that alarm started. It will take too long to get help. I think I know what they want with the R&D team.”

Logan snarled as he stood, grabbing the bag he had carried from their room, which Clint didn’t really notice until now. “Care to share with the class?”

“This is a little base, but they do some very unusual experiments in R&D. The kind of experiments that are best done away from highly populated areas,” Reynolds explained. “I’ve made a couple friends, but they won’t talk about it. I think it has to do with chemical weapons though. Mostly neutralizing them, but…”

“They need to make them to figure out how to neutralize them,” Logan finished, his eyes getting that unfocused look that meant he was remembering something. After a moment he shook it off. He opened his bag and pulled out a yellow and blue bundle of fabric. “So we need to keep Hydra’s hands off whatever it is they got in there. Great.”

Clint stared at the suit that Logan unrolled. It was the Wolverine costume; he had had it with him the whole time. Clint felt a little annoyed by that. He would have loved to see it before they were in a life or death fight. He also wished that he had a cool suit to put on too. It might make him feel more like a hero, instead of like a teenage carnie with a prehistoric weapon who was way out of his depth. He even kinda wished he had his circus costume or the outfit from the fair, but they were both back in the room.

Logan changed quickly without ceremony, just pulling the suit on and flipping the cowl up. Clint hid a snicker behind his hand. The points on his mentor’s hood looked just like the points in his hair style. He wondered who came up with that idea because while it definitely looked intimidating, it was pretty funny too.

“Stay with the boy,” Wolverine ordered as he strode to the door.

Clint opened his mouth to object but the SHIELD agent beat him to it. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted, bringing the X-men to a halt. “We need a plan and to work together. Do you really think you can cut your way through the problem?”

Wolverine’s facial expression was hard to read with the mask, but it was obvious that was exactly what he was thinking. He bared his teeth but the agent didn’t back down.

“Those are my comrades and friends in trouble,” Reynolds pointed out, walking over to the mutant and poking him in the chest, making Wolverine growl. “We do this smart before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Fine, bub,” Logan growled at the taller man, but his eyes were on Clint. Under the posturing and the snarling, Clint thought his guardian looked…well, he looked sad. It took the archer by surprise. “What’s your plan?”

Reynolds deflated a little in relief that he didn’t need to fight to get his point across. “Well, we need to do this on two fronts. First is to rescue the scientists, second is to get help from the loyal SHIELD agents trapped in the personal quarters.”

Clint raised his hand with a question. Logan snorted in amusement but waved his hand for Clint to speak. “Um, how do we tell if they’re good guys or not?”

Reynolds and Wolverine shared a look. “If they’re shooting at you, they’re bad guys,” Logan answered gruffly.

Clint considered this as he ran his hands over his bow again. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” He swallowed hard and resolutely pushed his fear and uncertainty to the back of his mind. “So, how are the three of us going to save the base?”

Reynolds chuckled darkly and went to the computers to pull up a map of the base to explain his plan. Clint followed, memorizing the layout, especially the vents where he had gotten lost earlier. After a moment, Logan stepped up beside the teen, bumping him with his shoulder gently.

Clint looked up in surprise. “Good job, Hawkeye,” Wolverine whispered. The smile he sent Clint’s way was positively bloodthirsty. “Let’s show him what the best can do, huh, bub?”

Clint felt his heart swell with pride at Logan’s confidence in him. He nodded eagerly and they both turned to pay attention to Reynolds’ master plan.


	15. Hero Lesson #1: Plans Never Go as Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it's time for young Hawkeye to be a hero. I had fun with this. Of course I had to use the vents again. I don't know how much of ventClint is cannon and how much is fanfiction driven, but I love it. Clint does too, though I think he's a bit sick of it by the end of this. Enjoy.

>>>===========>

Clint crawled through the vents that he had escaped only a few hours ago, though it felt like days. There were a few distinct differences than the previous foray, however. This time he knew where he was going and he had his bow and quiver with him. The long line of Princess was comforting under his hand as he inched through the tight space, but he had to be careful not to catch the quiver on his back against the roof of the vent. Though last time he didn’t have to worry about being shot by Nazis, so there was that. Wow, his life had gotten weird, which was saying something for an orphan that ran away to the circus.

He counted the branches as he worked he way down. One, two, three, four, here it was: number five, with a drop that went down three levels, where the barracks were. He was supposed to make contact with the SHIELD agents that were locked up and see how many they could get into the vents to follow Clint to the armory. A couple of the women and younger agents should fit, since the ducts were all larger and stronger than normal since they had to supply the extensive underground complex with fresh air. If everything keeps to plan, the freshly armed SHIELD agents would guard the stairs so Wolverine and Agent Reynolds can evacuate the scientists, hopefully before they were forced to make a superweapon for Hydra. Sounds simple on paper. Logan had groaned when Clint said as much.

Hawkeye froze when he heard voices filtering through the vent in front of him. He shook his head in disgust when he realized the two men were talking in gruff German. Seriously? German Nazis? They were in the middle of Oklahoma! Most of these jerks had probably never been to Germany. Clint might have been putting too much meaning into the exchange but he couldn’t help but remember Nightcrawler who was very proud of his native land. Clint shook his head at how disappointed the X-man would be. After a moment, the men moved on and Clint continued on his way. He reached the vent leading to the lower levels. He could see the fan spinning at the bottom of the foreboding pit. Thank goodness he didn’t need to go that far.

Using a handy magnet grapple and pulley that Reynolds had provided, Clint repelled to his level and reentered the vents. His palms were sweaty and his eyes watered a little from the dry air. He preferred to focus on those minor inconveniences rather than the dangers. He was good at that, forcing himself to not think about something that bothered him. He heard more men coming down the hall, and he froze. In this section of the base, the air ducts were in the walls rather than the ceiling, with the vents along the top of the wall at regular intervals, so if he was careful, Clint could peek out and see who it was.

One of the men was the redhead behemoth from earlier. His expression was positively murderous as he rubbed his sore head. The other was a Hydra agent that Clint hadn’t seen before. They were both dressed in their SHIELD uniforms and were fully armed but every SHIELD insignia was covered by the stupid octopus skull. Clint rolled his eyes but admitted that it made it easier to tell who the bad guys were. Hopefully they were all that stupid.

“Why the hell are we watching this room?” whined the unknown agent, who Clint mentally dubbed Dum-dum #1.

“Orders,” snarled the red-head. He stopped poking at his head to run a hand over his rifle.

“I got that, but why?” Dum-dum #1 tried again to engage his companion. Clint stifled a chuckle and started inching forward again. He was passing one of the junctions into the room they were guarding when the idiot answered his own question. “I think the Commander hopes they’ll come back for their gear. Stupid, if you ask me. That short guy, I don’t think he’s dumb enough to try coming back for a change of clothes. They’ll be long gone by now.”

Clint paused. This was their room, with their gear. The teen grinned as he pulled himself forward and took the turn into the officer’s quarters that they had just vacated. He carefully removed the vent cover and hooked up another of his grapples so he could get back up before he lowered himself down. He landed lightly on his feet, freezing to see if the men outside had heard him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Dum-dum’s wheedling voice and Red’s grumpy tones. He looked around, grateful that someone left the lamp on, probably the same someone who dumped their bags out on the bed and floor. Clint glared at his trophy goblet from the fair which had been dented by some jerk. He turned away to go through the pile of his clothes dumped in the corner. Bullseye.

He dug through the tangle of clothes until he found his prizes. First were his moccasins. They were quieter and had surprisingly good traction. Next was the purple leather vest, though he kept his t-shirt. The vest was more comfortable and left his arms free from the confines of a jacket. He sadly set aside his hat as impractical but grabbed his mask from the circus. He held it for second before slipping it on. It made him feel like hero to wear it and maybe give the enemy a surprise. The thing was a little ridiculous, with the stylized purple “H” on his forehead, but the points were kinda reminiscent of Wolverine’s. He stood and glanced at the mirror. He stilled looked like a kid that was out of his depth, but with the purple pulling everything together, he almost looked like he knew what he was doing. Or he was fooling himself, but it was better than nothing. He quickly scrambled back up his grapple and put the vent back before returning to his mission. He hadn’t taken more than a couple minutes and the two goons were completely oblivious of him. Hawkeye was a super spy!

He continued on his journey and after only one close call from a stifled sneeze, he made it to the barracks. He peered into the large gloomy room. Apparently someone thought it was a good idea to fill the place with bunk beds in three rows, leaving very little room for moving around. Most of the SHIELD agents were sitting on the beds, whispering between themselves. The rest were caring for a handful of injured agents on the beds furthest from the door. As sad as it was to see the half dozen or so men and two women wrapped in blood soaked bandages, it was good to see them. It meant that he wouldn’t have to convince them that something was wrong. He took a deep breath to gather his courage. He could do this. He was the Amazing Hawkeye, ward to Wolverine.

He tapped on the vent to get the attention of the agents closest to him. One was apparently Agent Brown, the jerk who hauled him before Commander Smith. That sucked but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Who’s there?” Brown hissed, moving into Clint’s line of sight.

“Frances Summers,” Clint hissed back. “Let me in.”

Brown cursed but quickly complied, moving one of the bunks under the vent so he could reach, though he didn’t need much help. “How’d you get here?” he asked harshly as Clint wiggled out of the vent and onto the bed. His quiver caught on the vent cover and it took a minute for the two of them to untangle him.

“Through the vents,” Clint answered quietly, pulling is mask back to show his face. They were quickly getting an audience as the other agents moved to surround him. “My… um… guardian and I were trying to leave when the Hydra alarm went off. So we came back to help.”

Brown crossed his arms. Clint noticed he had bandages wrapped around both biceps and he had an impressive shiner. “Who’s your guardian that he sent a boy into a Hydra controlled base alone?”

Clint crossed his arms. “His name is Wolverine. You might have heard of him,” he snapped. “And my name is Hawkeye.”

“Chad, who is this kid?” asked one of the other agents, a gruff looking man with a scar across his cheek.

“He’s that kid I caught in the armory earlier. Agent Coulson is coming to talk to his dad tomorrow,” Brown answered but he didn’t take his eyes off Clint. “So, Hawkeye, what do you think you can do with a bow and a couple arrows?”

Clint bristled at the condescending tone. “More than two dozen agents locked in their bedroom like grounded children,” he hissed. “Look, we have a plan. Trust me.”

“You said Wolverine,” pointed out one of the others, Clint didn’t see which one because of his staring contest with Brown, “The mutant, Wolverine, member of the X-men?”

Clint ground his teeth with frustration. They were wasting time! “Yes, the X-man. Short, hairy, three metal claws in each hand. And he’s waiting for me to get you people mobilized so he and Agent Reynolds can rescue the R&D labcoats before Hydra forces them to mix up a chemical weapon. Now please, listen to me. We don’t have much time.”

“I believe you,” said a big African American man from the back. “What’s the plan, Hawkeye?”

“Johnson, you can’t be serious,” Agent Brown argued. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s with Wolverine,” Agent Johnson said with a shrug. “I’ve seen the kind of kids he runs with. The X-men saved my life in Tennessee last year, when the Brotherhood of Mutants attacked that medical lab.” He glared around the room, daring anyone to argue. There was some grumbling but everyone backed down. “Okay, kid, this is your show.”

“Okay, first step is to get you guys armed,” Clint said gratefully. “Agent Reynolds said he could do something about the cameras in here, so I’m supposed to lead anyone who can fit in the vents to the Armory then we’ll see if we can bring enough weapons back here.” He grinned at the agents around him. “Any volunteers?”

The SHIELD agents sorted themselves out quickly. They had been waiting for a chance to make a move, and they grabbed this opportunity with both hands. Now that they didn’t have to worry about Hydra watching them, the covert attempts to make weapons and communication devices were brought out in the open while Clint led a little band of 8 people, five women and three men, back through the vents to the armory.

It was painfully slow going. Stealth training was standard for SHIELD, but vent crawling was more of an advanced course, mostly because it wasn’t usually practical. Most ventilation systems aren’t built to hold up people. They were finally getting the hang of it when the agent at the end sneezed. A second later a gunshot echoed though the vent. They all froze, waiting for someone to sound the alarm. Clint tried to look back, but he couldn’t see past the bodies of the other agents to see more than the pin hole of light of the bullet hole. Clint peeked through a vent cover to see two Hydra agents. One was pointing a gun at the wall with a wild look in his eye.

“Damn it, Nate!” the other Hydra agent swore and they all heard the smack of flesh on flesh. “Stop being so fucking jumpy! You’re going to make me start jumping at shadows next.”

“I heard something,” the other agent argued, his voice high and whiny. “I don’t like this. We should just kill everyone else before they fight back. You know as well as I do that SHIELD agents don’t just give up.”

Another smack. “I’m not arguing this with you,” the first man said. “They’ll all be dead soon enough, now get moving. We’re supposed to be setting charges not jumping at shadows.”

Hawkeye and the agents held their breath as they listened to the two men continued down the hall, still bickering. “Everyone okay back there?” the archer hissed when they were alone again.

“Yeah,” came the slightly breathless answer. “I don’t need to shave my balls for a while though.”

“Carlos!” chided one of the women.

“Good, move out,” Clint ordered. He rearranged the quiver on his back, checking to make sure the arrows weren’t going to fall out then he started crawling again.

They didn’t have any more problems until they had almost reached their goal. The reason that Clint hadn’t noticed the change in level during his first trip through the vents was because of the layout of the obstacle course and firing range. There was a gentle spiral around the open area that filled two levels before finishing in the armory and ammunitions area. It didn’t seem as gentle now that Clint was looking for it and being followed by eight other people. They were all sweating like pigs by this time which made their hands slick so they kept slipping, bumping into each other like a gross set of dominos. After the third time the woman behind Clint lost her grip and slid right into his backside, he had had enough.

“Hold a second,” he snapped. He took a deep breath, smelling all of them in the tight space. He wondered if this was how Logan felt all the time. No wonder he was always puffing on those stupid cigars. “We need to do something different; we’re only about half way down.”

“Let’s space out more,” suggested one of the men, based on his accent, Clint guessed it was Agent Lee, a tiny Asian man who held himself with the confidence of a much bigger man. He had been the first to volunteer to follow Clint. “Maybe we can cool down a little and even if we slip, we won’t keep colliding.”

“Let’s do it,” Clint agreed. As the point man, he didn’t get a break so he kept going. His shoulders were starting to burn from pulling himself forward and his toes and knees felt raw. But he kept going. But he was rethinking the plan. There was no way they would be able to climb back up this incline without some kind of help. They would either need to figure out some kind of hand holds or maybe a series of those magnetic grapples to make it easier. He wasn’t sure he could do it though. It felt like hours since he entered the vents and he wondered how much more he could take without collapsing. His arms started shaking just thinking about it and he longed to take just a minute to rest. The image of the dead men in the surveillance room flashed across his vision. He couldn’t let that happen again. He was going to be a hero like Wolverine and do his job. He could collapse later when everyone was safe. He dredged up new reserves of energy and pushed himself forward. He winced as he bumped his head again. He bet Captain America never put up with this.

Finally he reached the vent that he had crawled out of last time. He could still see where he had kicked it out before. He gently jiggled it to confirm that it was still loose. It was which probably meant no one had figured it out, so they were in the clear. As he waited for the others to catch up, he peered out, looking for any sign that there were people about. At first glance, the storage room looked empty, but after the first two agents joined him, he saw a shift in the shadows that indicated a person. They were out of his direct line of sight, but now that he knew what to look for, he could see the shadow move every few seconds, like a bored sentry trying to keep from getting stiff. He could also smell cigarette smoke.

Clint blessed his flexibility and the wide vent that let him wiggle around to see the first agent. She was a mouse of a woman with short, dirty blond hair that looked grey from the dust and faint light. Clint hoped she knew ASL. He pointed out and made the sign for “man”, then “maybe more”. She squinted at him before nodding. She crawled forward, so Clint thought she misunderstood, but she moved close enough to whisper in his ear.

“One man, maybe more?” she breathed. He nodded. “Can you see him?” He shook his head. “Shadow?” she asked. He nodded again, glad that she caught on so fast. “Okay, help me move the grate as quietly as possible then let me down. I’ll take care of the sentry.”

Clint felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline. She was going to take care of the enemy alone? She didn’t look impressed with his lack of confidence. He shrugged as best as he could in the space and moved to knock out the vent. It came off the wall easily and tipped it enough to pull it back inside, putting it beside him to make room for the female agent. She slipped out, head and shoulders first, before executing some kind of flip move that Clint was sure wasn’t possible. She landed gently without a sound. She saluted Clint and the other agent that had moved forward to peer through the hole. They watched her slip around to a pile of boxes and out of their sight. Clint shifted his gaze down to the shadows. He saw the moment the guard saw the agent but with a quick shuffle and a pop that seemed a lot louder than it was, one shadow collapsed. The mousy agent who would be barely taller than Wolverine and at least 150 lbs lighter stepped back in sight with a smug grin and her hands on her hips.

“Coast is clear in here,” she whispered. “Sounds like a celebration in Chad’s office. They must have found his contraband tequila.”

“Oh, he’s going to hate that,” said another woman as she slipped out of the vent. She wasn’t as graceful as Agent Mouse and she needed help getting her feet out without falling on her face. Once she was right side up she smiled. “He’s such a stickler for the rules so he hates getting caught at his one vice,” she explained to Clint who was giving her a questioning look from his place in the vent. “You coming down, darling?”

Clint took the easier way of sliding out feet first and went to check the hall way as the rest of the agents crawled out. It looked clear, with only the emergency lighting on. Further down the hall, loud laughter and shouting showed the effects of top shelf tequila on a bunch of undisciplined traitors. Clint rolled his eyes and returned to the agents who were having a bit of a conference.

“Hawkeye,” Agent Lee called softly, waving the archer over. “We were talking about our options.”

“I can’t do that crawl again,” one of the agents said, rubbing a red mark on her temple where she had kept bumping it. “We need a new plan. What did Wolverine want us to do when we got everyone armed?”

Clint nodded in understanding as he checked over his bow and quivers again. “Wolverine needed us to secure the stairs so they had an exit for the scientists that Hydra had locked in the R&D lab,” he explained. He pulled a tiny transceiver out of his pocket. “When we’re ready, I activate this and he’ll make his move. If he has to move sooner, he’ll activate his to let me know.”

Lee held out his hand and Clint reluctantly handed the electronic button over. The man turned it over a few times before handing it back. “So we can’t talk to him, too bad,” was all he said.

“Let’s start the plan from here,” Agent Mouse (Clint really needed to ask her real name) suggested. “We secure this floor and the stairs, then we break out the others.”

“They might sound an alarm before we’re ready,” Carlos, the one who almost got ventilated, pointed out.

“We need to risk it,” Agent Mouse pressed. “We don’t have time to run that gauntlet again. It will take us twice as long to get back, at least, and we still could get caught, lugging heavy weapons through. We were lucky to get this far.”

“Hawkeye, what do you think? This is your show,” Lee asked, cutting through the dissension.

Clint blushed as they all turned to him. Eight fully trained special agents and they were looking at him for direction. That was kind of heady for a 14 year old carnie hick. He puffed out his chest and nodded decisively. “I agree with her,” he said, jerking his chin at Agent Mouse. “We don’t have time to go back, assuming we could make it back up. If the alarm goes off, we’ll deal with it.” He smirked at a sudden thought. “Honestly, the faster we do this the better. I bet Wolverine is getting agitated waiting.”

They all laughed softly at the idea. Then they got to work. Leaving Clint to stand guard, the agents armed themselves with what was handy in the storage closet, which was filled with targets, both paper and 3-D, and office supplies. Clint tied not to laugh at Lee armed with a pair of staplers. Then, with Clint in the middle, they moved out into the hall to the armory. They slipped past the office with no problems. There was another guard at the end of the hall, but Lee knocked him out with a thrown stapler. The keypad that opened the door to the armory turned out to be the next obstacle. The traitorous Hydra agents might be stupid enough to get drunk after taking over the base, but they weren’t incompetent enough to not change the codes on the doors.

While the SHIELD agents worked to override the lock, Clint watched their backs, arrow at the ready. He was really hoping no one came to check on the unconscious guard, who was bound and gagged against the wall. It took a few minutes but soon they had the door open. Without a sound the agents rushed inside and started loading up with as many weapons as they could safely carry. Agent Mouse and Agent Lee grabbed a couple silencers and slipped down the hall to deal with the men in Agent Brown’s office before they even finished screwing them on.

“You ever shoot a gun?” the last man on the team asked, speaking up for the first time. Clint couldn’t remember his name either, just that it sounded foreign. He was as short and thin as everyone who followed Clint with brown hair and bright blue eyes that never stopped scanning for threats.

“Shotgun, a couple times,” Clint replied with a shrug. His mentors were more focused on his archery than anything else, but the one of the roustabouts took him bird hunting once. It was before Clint started training with Swordsman, and the man figured a small boy would work as well as a bird dog for finding and retrieving the dead birds.

“We’ll leave you to your bow then,” the man grunted before stuffing the pistol he was holding in his belt.

Clint and the agents turned to the door when they heard shots from down the hall. Even with silencers the gunshots sounded too loud on the quiet floor, easily carrying over the whispers of the agents still sorting through the guns and ammo. There were a couple cries of pain, a burst of automatic fire, then silence. Clint swallowed, putting just a little more pressure on his bowstring before he recognized Agent Mouse.

“We got one still kicking, who wants to do the honors?” she asked. The quiet man and one of the women stepped forward with grim expressions. As they pushed passed her, Mouse started her own search for weapons to load up with. She patted Clint on the shoulder as she moved past him but didn’t say anything.

Down the hall, there were more screams and someone yelling in desperation before silence reined again. All of the remaining agents were loaded for war, looking like short exaggerations of Rambo, with belts of ammo stuffed with weapons crisscrossed over their chests. It was impressive, scary (because Clint know they could use every single piece of hardware with deadly efficiency), and hilarious. Though, thinking back to what he looked like in the mirror earlier, he wasn’t much better, so Clint didn’t laugh. The last three agents came back and Lee started loading up like the others.

“We need to move,” the quiet agent said. “They plan to blow the base and everyone inside as soon as they get what they want from R&D.”

Agents nodded all around and started sprinting to the stairwell. Somehow Clint kept up with them, staying in the middle of the pack, as they ran as quietly as possible. Surprisingly there was very little clanking or rattling; Clint’s arrows made more noise than the agent’s guns.

With a glance at Clint to make sure the archer had no issues with him taking the reins, Lee ordered pairs of agents to secure each level of the stairwell and guard it while the rest rushed up the stairs to the barracks to release the rest of the loyal SHIELD agents. Silently, they agreed. “Hawkeye, you stay with us,” Lee ordered, “But stay back. I do not want to face Wolverine if you’re hurt.”

Without a word, the group started up the stairs. Two stayed at the Armory level, Level Six, while the rest of them continued upward toward the barracks. A Hydra agent came out on the next level, but Lee put him down before the traitor could even bring his weapon up. Two agents stayed on that level while the other four and Clint kept going to their goal. Lee held up a fist and carefully opened the door, peeking through a crack. He held up four fingers and pointed to the big gun he had strapped to his hip and held up six. The others nodded while Clint guessed there were four men with six big guns like Lee’s. The agents arranged themselves like they were going to rush the enemy, the enemy with six big guns.

Before he could stop himself, Clint pushed forward. He held up his bow and held a finger to his lip. Lee shook his head, and waved the teen back but Agent Mouse held up a hand. She put a hand on Clint’s shoulder and pushed, so Clint went down on one knee. Then she mimed something to do with triangles. Lee and the others thought about it before agreeing.

Clint moved so he was back far enough to not be in the way without messing up his line of sight. He pulled out six arrows, held two in his hand and had the others in easy reach. His focus was needle sharp, with nothing to distract him on the surface of his mind. It was just him, his bow, and his targets. He nodded at Mouse, who opened the door.

Standing guard in the hallway were four Hydra agents. They were all big, kinda brutish, and packing guns. Their attention was on a person on the ground who was curled up in the fetal position to protect their head from the kicks and abuse the guards were raining on him or her. Clint spared a split second to be grateful that he had spoken up. His plan could save that person. Then he was shooting. He let arrows go as fast as he could draw back, aiming for shoulders and knees. He took out the knees of the two closest Hydra, and then aimed for the shoulders of the other two so they couldn’t fire those big guns.

Almost before Hawkeye finished releasing his six arrows, the SHIELD agents rushed the hallway. There was a flurry of activity and the ring of gunshots. Three more Hydra came around the corner and they were mowed down by SHIELD. Then it was over.

Clint dared to breathe again and he noticed his hands were shaking. He was also having trouble getting up off his knees. He sat there in the stairway for a moment before Agent Mouse noticed and came back for him.

“Good job, Hawkeye,” she said as she helped him to his feet. “Your arrows made a big difference. Thank you.”

“That’s what I do,” Clint agreed as calmly as he could manage. He was just glad his voice didn’t crack. “Point and shoot, that’s me.”

“I’m sure your more than that,” she said, but didn’t push the point.

They walked to where Lee was helping the agent who had been getting the tar kicked out of him while the other agents got the door open. The freed SHIELD agents streamed out the door, accepted the extra weapons from the Vent team and quickly moved out to do their jobs.

“Well done, Hawkeye,” Lee said. “Give us a few minutes to secure the stairs and I think you can trigger your transmitter.”

Clint grinned, pulling out the device to check it. All eyes turned to it as it started making a quiet beeping sound. “Looks like we ran out of time,” Clint said. He swallowed convulsively. He had taken too long and now the plan was in danger. He tried not to feel guilty, but his stomach had other ideas as it flipped flopped.

“Then we improvise,” the battered agent spoke up. Until then Clint hadn’t realized the man was actually Agent Brown. He looked pretty terrible with the extensive bruising on his face, but he tried to smile for Clint. “Remember, kid, plans always change. Don’t let it bother you.” He turned to yell at the agents milling in the hallway. “We’re on borrowed time now, move it!” he bellowed.


	16. Chapter 16- Waiting is the Hardest Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse about how long it has taken me to post this. All I can do it put it up for you to enjoy! Time for Wolverine to be the best at what he does.

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Wolverine knew how to be patient. He could stalk his prey for days before making a move. He knew how to wait until his quarry came to him. He had been in enough wars to know that most of war fare involved plenty of waiting. Didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially now when he was waiting for a green SHIELD agent to mess with the base’s cameras and alarms while his ward crawled into the thick of it. If he was honest, that was the part that rankled the most, sending Clint back into enemy territory with only a mental map and a Paleolithic weapon. It was a solid plan and even untrained, Logan trusted Clint, but it was still difficult to sit here while someone else did the heavy lifting.

“Would you stop growling?” Agent Reynolds snapped at him.

Logan whipped around to look at the agent. He hadn’t even realized he had been snarling under his breath since Clint had disappeared into the vents. “Just tell me he’s okay,” he grumbled instead of admitting that.

Reynolds rolled his eyes before turning back to the computer. “He’s fine. No alarms have sounded and none of the sensors in the vents are working. I think they were planning this for a while, making holes in our security, like the vents. Who would check to see if the motion sensors and alarms are working in the ventilation, you know? Your arrival and Clint’s trip through the vents tipped their hand, making them move before they were completely ready.” He turned to grin at Logan. “Lucky for us.”

“Are you ready yet or not?” Logan growled, not really caring about the logistics right now. He was willing to believe that Hydra was just that stupid.

The agent hit a final button on the console and all the screens went black for a second before coming back up. “Yep, all feeds looped and all access locked with clearance that I’m really not supposed to have. Hydra has their hands tied, but they probably won’t figure it out for a while,” Reynolds declared cheerfully. He collected all the weapons of his fallen comrades that Logan had left by his chair after dealing with the bodies. The Hydra traitors were stuffed in the closet while the agents were laid out respectfully out of sight of the door.

With a nod the temporary partners slipped outside into the night. They couldn’t afford to bring any attention to the stairs that Clint was in charge of securing with the help of loyal SHIELD agents, so Logan and Reynolds would have to find another way. After reviewing the situation, Logan chose the air intake pipe hidden in one of the barns. It was wide enough to climb down on purpose, as a last resort escape route, and with the sensors in all the vents disabled, it was a gaping hole in the security. That and the proximity to the labs made it perfect for their purposes.

Wolverine took the lead, dodging through the shadows with ease. He disappeared better than one would expect from a man in bright blue and yellow. Reynolds wasn’t too shabby either, keeping up and keeping quiet. Logan wondered (not for the first time) what a promising young agent like him was doing on a backwater base like this.

They were half way to their target when a pair of guards appeared before them. Logan held Reynolds back as he sniffed the air trying to decide whether it was worth the fight. When he caught the smell of blood and fear lingering on the two men, he made his decision. He leapt out of the shadows, releasing his claws and digging them deep into the chests of both men. They died with barely a whimper as the sharp claws pierced their lungs and hearts. Logan snarled silently as he stood over his kills.

“Why’d you do that?” Reynolds asked, somehow sounding more curious than frightened though Logan could smell his unease. “We could have just avoided them.”

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t want to leave them at our backs,” he explained sharply before deciding to admit to the rest of his reasoning. “They smelled like blood and fear. They got off on hurting their fellow agents and I just couldn’t let that stand.” He glanced over, not regretful but a little apologetic. “Don’t tell the boy.”

“Got it,” Reynolds said, saluting with the rifle in his hand. “Hey, you just saved me the trouble of killing the traitors myself.”

They moved on, not meeting anymore patrols until they reached the barn with the intake pipe. Two agents, a man and a woman were watching the door. The woman checked her watch before sighing. These two were up wind, so Logan couldn’t pick up anything from them. They needed to avoid a fire-fight so after an exchange of hand signals, they split up and came at the guards from different sides.

Coming along the side of the wall, Logan finally got a sniff from the two Hydra. They didn’t have the stink of fear and pain as the last two, so Logan knocked out the man with a blow to the back of his head. The turncoat went down without a fuss. Reynolds had a little more trouble with the woman. When he saw Logan make his move, the young agent jumped the woman, putting a hand over her mouth and catching her in a choke hold. She bucked against him and broke his hold before jabbing an elbow in his stomach and spinning a way. She turned to face him with her gun up and aimed at his head. He stared up into the muzzle of the automatic, knowing there was no way he could reach any of his weapons in time to stop her from pulling the trigger.

A snarl sounded behind her and she turned without changing her aim to face a very angry Wolverine. She screamed and tried to bring her weapon to bear against the new threat but Logan was on her before she could even shift her aim. He knocked the gun out of her hands with one hand and struck her a blow on the temple that made her crumple to the ground with his other hand.

“Sorry,” Reynolds groaned.

“Forget it,” Wolverine dismissed the sentiment easily. He sliced through the lock and pushed through the door. They dragged the Hydra agents inside the door and confiscated all of their weapons before restraining them and locking them in a supply closet. Finally they turned their attention to the huge fan in the middle of the room. Luckily, there was a door for access to the pipe without going through the fan that pushed air down and into the vents. It was locked but Logan took care of that quickly enough. Reynolds poked his head in and down the hole, lit only by tiny emergency lights at intervals.

“That’s a deep hole,” he groaned.

“You ain’t scared, are ya?” Wolverine teased.

The agent shivered but resolutely turned around and started to climb down the ladder built into the side of the pipe. Logan watched the kid’s progress for a while before leaping out into draft created by the fan. He caught himself with his claws on either side, letting them slow his decent enough that he could keep track of his depth. When he reached the floor he wanted, he retracted his claws and snagged the ladder. The metal rung creaked under his sudden weight and he felt a couple muscles in his arm tear, but he stopped at the perfect place to reach the access door. He cut the lock and rushed into the utility room, expecting more Hydra but the room was empty.

“Coast is clear,” Logan called up, poking his head back out into the pipe.

“Yeah, yeah,” Reynolds grouched. “Just ‘cause you took the express route, doesn’t mean that I can,” he grumbled to himself as he continued to climb down.

By the time the young agent reached the access door, he was panting with exertion and nerves. “Let’s not do that again,” he gasped before visibly steeling himself and went over to where Logan was standing by the door. “What do you see?”

“Seen at least one patrol,” Logan said. “They’re moving in pairs and it looks like all the ones inside the complex have changed the emblems on their uniforms.” He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “At least that will make it easier to tell who the enemy is.”

Reynolds snorted. “Okay, so we need to get up to the R&D level without being seen and wait for Clint’s signal. How’s the transceiver?”

Logan pulled out the tiny device that was the only link to his ward. If Clint ran into trouble or completed his mission, he’d trigger the transceiver which would make it beep. They had agreed that a radio was too dangerous, but Logan would really like to know exactly where the archer was. He stuck the device back in his pocket. “It’s fine. Let’s get into position.”

They slipped into the hall and carefully made their way through the complex. Everything was quiet, nearly deserted. That was not a good sign. Logan took a deep breath through his nose, trying to scent where people were or what had happened. The first thing he smelled was Clint, surprising him into stopping. He was distracted enough by his ward’s scent he almost didn’t pick up on the other dominant scent: explosives.

“I can smell the kid,” Wolverine whispered, pointing at the vent above their heads. He scanned the area for explosives, but didn’t see anything. That was worse than if he had just found the bomb.

“Is he alone?” Reynolds asked, unaware of Logan’s unease.

Logan nodded. “He must not be at the barracks yet.” He held up a hand, preventing Reynolds from moving on. “I’m also picking up explosives, but I don’t see a source.”

The SHIELD agent frowned, looking around for himself. “That’s not good news, Wolverine.”

“Just keep yer eyes open,” Wolverine advised. “Let’s get into position.”

Silently they worked their way to R&D. It was slow going since they didn’t want to raise an alarm. It was smooth going; despite the pace, but the scent of explosives was getting on the feral’s nerves. The stink seemed to permeate the air, which was not good. He couldn’t even track it at this rate, not until they passed a hall that smelled stronger than the rest. He grabbed his agent shadow and pulled him down the hall to investigate. A few doors down they found a string of wires connecting packets of C-4 spread out along the wall.

Logan snarled at the bombs, frustrated at the new wrinkle.

“We don’t have time to stall,” Reynolds declared after releasing some of his own tension in a blue streak that even Logan found impressive. “You continue to R&D. I’ll start disabling this mess and start looking for others.”

Wolverine wanted to argue, to say that he couldn’t leave a greenie alone in an enemy controlled base, but the kid was right. They needed to split up or they wouldn’t save anyone.

“Be careful,” Logan growled, and took off at a run. After seeing that set up, he knew time would be short. They probably had strings like that on every level and if even one of them blew, it was all over, the whole base would collapse. 

 Wolverine reached the entrance to R&D with little resistance, which he was quick to deal with silently. He peeked around the corner. There were a dozen Hydra agents, all fully armed standing guard. It was a good bet that there were more inside the labs. Logan didn’t really care about the odds, but he knew that if he made a move, it was not going to be quiet. As soon as he showed his claws, things were going to get messy. He pulled out the transmitter.

Logan knew that Clint had completed most of his mission. The archer had reached the barracks and recruited some more vent crawlers before Logan had found the bombs and Reynolds had split off to deal with them. Logan also knew that Clint and the SHIELD agents weren’t in the vents now, and hadn’t been for several minutes. He looked at the device in his hand again, but it stayed frustratingly silent.

Wolverine didn’t have time to waste. He activated the transmitter and unsheathed his claws. Time to do what he did best.

The next few minutes were a blur of slashing, stabbing, and gunfire. Each shot hurt like the devil, but nothing slowed the mutant down as he plowed into the goons. Then the door to the labs opened and more cannon fodder joined the party. At that point, Wolverine let loose, releasing his animal side. He wasn’t beserk, not quite, but he wasn’t holding back against these men, these traitors.

Finally, he ran out of enemies. Logan looked at the carnage around him and shrugged. He might have gone a little over board and if Slim were here, he’d get his ass chewed, but he didn’t regret it. He felt even less remorse when he entered the lab. Half of the scientists were huddled in the corner, most of them showing signs of beatings, at least two were dead. The other half were working, and while two more guards watched over them. Commander Smith stood near the beaten lab-coats, a recently fired pistol in his hand.

“This stops now,” Logan snarled as he stalked into the room.

Smith turned, and aimed his weapon at the scared prisoners. “Wolverine,” he sighed. “I had hoped that you would come back. Hey, hey, don’t move, unless you want me to shoot one of these hostages.”

“What do you want, Smith?” Wolverine rumbled. He halted, not because of the threat, but more to take in more of the situation.

“Hail, Hydra,” Smith crowed. “I’m going to bring my superiors all of the research that SHIELD has been doing on chemical and biological weapons. Then we can finally come out of the shadows and take control of the world.”

“That’s been tried before,” Wolverine snorted. “Didn’t work too well in WWII.” He took a measured step forward.

“That was before, things have changed,” Smith rambled, his voice slipping into the pattern of obsession. “With the research and physical samples, Hyda will be unstoppable. We’ve learned from history, Wolverine, have you?” He spun around to shout at the scientists who had stopped working. “Don’t stop! Keep working you worthless worms!” he screeched.

Wolverine took the opening, launching himself at the fake commander and putting the two of them between the frantic scientists and the startled guards, who opened fire on the raging hero. The mutant barked at the scientists to run before he threw the man at the guards, sending all three of them down in a heap. Logan leaped on them, claws sheathed to reduce collateral damage. The talk of samples had him worried, he knew he would probably survive a release of one of those samples but he wasn’t the only one at risk. His mind immediately went to a young archer who had been crawling through the vents.

The SHIELD researchers were no fools, they grabbed their injured and ran to the door. Logan took a shot to the chest from one of the guards before he broke the man’s wrist. The blast got one of the men’s attentions and he turned to offer his help to the mutant.

“Get out of here,” Logan growled through his teeth as he grappled with the two guards. Smith was unconscious on the floor at the moment. “Get to the stairs, the loyal agents should have it secured. Go!”

The man, his face bruised and bloody, nodded and helped a young woman who was limping on a swollen ankle. Once the last of the scientists were outside, Logan turned his full attention to taking out the two Hydra agents. They were better than most of the trash he had fought tonight, but they still fell under Wolverine’s claws.

“Wolverine!” Smith screeched. He had woken up and moved along the wall to one of the work stations. He held up a canister of a green liquid. He was bleeding from his gut, shot by his own men, and Logan could smell death coming to him. “Hail Hydra!” He slammed the canister against the counter, shattering it and releasing the liquid. The green fluid splattered on the dying man, melting his flesh like acid before it started to evaporate. The rest of the fluid corroded everything it touched; metal, plastics, and glass alike. Logan back peddled, staying ahead of the cloud. He ducked out the door and hit the emergency lockdown button outside.  Magnetic seals hissed into place, sealing the labs off from the rest of the base.

Wolverine quickly caught up with the limping scientists, who had just reached the stairwell. As quickly as possible, he explained about the weapon. He needed to know the ramifications.

The man who had offered to help, Dr. Hertz, shuddered. “That’s a universal solvent,” he whispered. “It’s a complex bio-acid that will dissolve everything. It will eat through even the magnetic locks if given enough time and volume. We had dismissed it as a weapon because it’s too volatile. It will keep eating everything until it’s completely spent or diluted.”

“Why did you still have it in the lab?” Wolverine snarled, pushing the man against the wall and getting in his face. “How do we stop it?”

“Fire,” said a petite Hispanic woman. She crossed her arms and looked down at Logan. It was intimidating even if they were the same size. “Chemical reactions until there is nothing left to react or breaking it down under intense heat is the only way to eliminate it.”

“So, an explosion,” the X-man groaned. “Okay, get out, get everyone out. Tell the agents to get everyone out and away from the base.”

Dr. Hertz nodded. “What about you?”

“I need to set off an explosion,” Logan said, already turning away to track Reynolds so they could set off the bombs he was trying to defuse. He stopped and turned back to the grey haired man. “If you see a young man with a bow and arrows, make sure he gets out safe. Tell him not to worry about me, got it?”

“I swear,” Hertz promised.

Logan snorted and turned to race down the hall. He passed by the lab. From what he could see, the entire room was filled with green smoke, which dissolved almost everything. And as predicted, it was starting to melt through the doors. Logan put on an extra bust of speed to where he had left Agent Reynolds. It didn’t take long to pick up Reynold’s scent and he tracked it down two levels to where the agent was carefully pulling detonators out of blocks of C-4 stuck to the side of a power box. Every SHIELD agent he saw on his way was ordered to evacuate immediately. The stairs were getting crowded.

“Stop, bub,” Logan ordered the young agent.

“What? Why?” Reynolds exclaimed, surprised both by Logan’s sudden appearance and the state of his uniform which was bloody and full of bullet holes.

“There was a leak in the lab, the techs said we have to burn it. Explosion of C-4 will do nicely,” Logan explained. “What did you do with the rest of the explosives?”

Reynolds tugged at the bag strap over his shoulder. “I have it all right here, over 15 lbs of the stuff. I ran into other SHIELD agents, who were disabling the bombs, what should we do?”

“We need to get everyone out then blow what we have at the lab, make sure that stuff doesn’t get out,” Logan explained his very simple plan. He led the way back up to the hallway to the lab. He noticed that someone was smart enough to turn off the ventilation for the base, which was turning the place into an underground oven. “I’m not going to worry about the rest of the bombs, between you and the other agents, we did what we could. Containing the threat is the first priority now.”

Reynolds didn’t waste his breath replying. The thick, hot air was weighing him down, making the man pant like dog. Logan was feeling it too. He had to wipe the sweat from his eyes and he could feel rivers of it flow down his back but he didn’t slow down. Finally they reached the R&D level. The acid had almost completely eaten through the doors. Thin wisps of green smoke leaked through cracks, until it reacted with the walls or ceiling, using itself up as it melted anything it touched.

“Shit,” Reynolds said, freezing for a moment. Wolverine shook his shoulder to snap him out of it.

 The two men wasted no time and started laying out blocks of explosive and connecting the detonators. It was taking longer than he liked, but there they had to take care if they didn’t want the stuff to go off in their face.  Then Logan took a handful of the explosives, connected with cord to the rest down the hall to bracket the dissolving doors. He felt the acid in his lungs when he inched past the doors, hugging the opposite wall; just enough to make him choke as his body healed the damage. He held his breath until he was on the other side and he could lay out the bombs. Then he ran back to where Reynolds was waiting, as far back as possible.

Logan ran out of breath and gasped for air before he was clear. He felt the solvent in his lungs and this time it was stronger. He choked on blood from the stuff eating his throat and lungs before his healing kicked in enough for him to breath. He didn’t stop though. He pushed Reynolds down the hall, hurrying the younger man back to the stairs.

“Everybody out?” the X-man rasped to the handful of SHIELD agents milling about on the stairs. Blood was still filling his mouth and he spat it out.

“The lower levels are cleared,” a small woman with mousy blond hair reported with a sharp salute. “We have everyone still alive evacuating on transports as we speak.”

Logan looked back over his shoulder, through the small window in the door. There was starting to be a distinct green tinge to the air. He nodded and waved everyone ahead of him. Reynolds and the mousy woman slung his arms over their shoulders, helping him keep up when his knees threatened to give way. He must have zoned out for a minute because the next thing he remembered was reaching the surface.

“We’re almost out, stay with me, old man,” Reynolds ordered, pulling the almost limp mutant forward.

“I’m fine,” Logan grumbled then winced at the feeling in his throat and chest. Still, he had healed enough that he could walk on his own. He shrugged off the help from the agents and started moving faster.

The whole group burst out into the clear air, narrowly missing an over loaded jeep following a string of other vehicles driving away into the Oklahoma dawn. Reynolds led the way to a barn on the edge of the complex. Inside, the last and only vehicle was the truck Logan was promised, with the trailer where his bike was already secured. All of the agents with them piled into the bed and the trailer.

“Well, it’s a little over due, but here is your truck,” Reynolds said with a grin. He let a set of keys dangle from a Captain America keychain.

Logan rolled his eyes and snagged the keys out of the brat’s hands. “Just get in the truck,” he groaned.

The truck ran like a dream when Logan turned the key and he pulled out of the building. He was the last vehicle in the line and he drove for a minute before stopping and looking over at Reynolds who was stuck in the middle seat with the small mousy woman beside him. Now that his nose was working better, Logan recognized her as one of the scents that had joined Clint in the vents. He narrowed his eyes at the female agent. “Where is Hawkeye?” he snarled with more heat than he intended.

“We sent him out with the first group,” she replied, unfazed. Reynolds, who was trapped between them flinched. “They planned to set up a base of operations in a hotel in the next town. It’s about an hour from here. I left him with Agent Lee and Dr. Hertz.”

Logan nodded, appeased for now. “Do you have the detonator?” he asked. He ran a hand over his face to wipe away the blood and push back his mask. “Will it work from here?”

Reynolds nodded and pulled out a transmitter, similar to the one they used to signal with Clint. “It should reach from here, even unground,” he explained as he fiddled with it for a moment. He looked over at the female agent. “Are you sure everyone is out? Even the Hydra agents?”

“We tied up any we found alive and tossed them in a horse trailer. We were as through as we could be,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now hurry up and push that thing. Hertz told me what was down there. If it leeches into the soil or the water table, it would be catastrophic.”

The young agent took a deep breath and met Logan’s eyes. The mutant nodded and Reynolds pushed the button. 

There was a thump, and the ground shook for a second. Logan threw the truck into gear and started driving as fast as he could and be safe with the men in the trailer behind him. Behind them the complex of disguised military buildings started to shake apart and collapse. Logan watched through the review mirror as the SHIELD base practically disappeared from sight.


End file.
